


Keep Breathing, Darling

by kwhyloren



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, i mean idk what else to tag this it's gonna be PAINFUL, if u like zen being sad u came to the right place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwhyloren/pseuds/kwhyloren
Summary: After a terrible accident threatens to end Zen's career, he and MC must come to terms with the consequences of their actions.





	1. Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! After writing parts 2 and 3 of Look Only At Me, I realized how much I love writing Zen (specifically, Zen angst), so when a good idea struck me, I decided to write a chapter fic. This one's gonna hurt, so you've be forewarned. I don't really have a set schedule for when I'll update or how long I want this to be, so please bear with me!
> 
> Also, special thanks to [Soriing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Soriing) for bouncing ideas back and forth for this with me! ♥

It’s eight in the morning and they’re having this fight again. All because she can’t bear to tell him the truth.

 

“I don’t understand you! A year ago you said you’d be up for trying to have a baby and now you’re just not sure?” Zen questions, anger barely in check.

 

“No, I’m sure and I just...I don’t want kids. I’m sorry.” Every word out of her mouth is heavy on her tongue, painful. She wishes she had the guts to tell him why, but she’s afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes if she does.

 

They had tried a few times to conceive before, and when nothing happened they decided to take a little break and start up trying again later. He seemed at ease with that decision, not worried in the slightest about their ‘bad luck’. But she was. She was concerned, as paranoid as she was, and decided to go get herself checked, just to calm her mind. It was probably nothing. Probably just bad luck, as Zen often said.

 

It wasn’t. When the results came back and the doctor told her she’d never be able to have children, she felt empty. All she could think about was how excited Zen had been to be a father, and how she’d never be able to give him that. 

 

She doesn’t know why she doesn’t tell him. It’s been months since she found out, and yet she still remains silent, even now. She’d rather face his wrath than witness his pain.

 

“Fuck...I thought you were just scared before, but you’re serious? You don’t want kids at all?”

 

“I’m serious. I’m sorry…”

 

“Is it me? Is it? Do you think I’m not good enough to be a father or something? If that’s the case, I promise I’ll do everything I can to make you change your mind. I’ll stop drinking altogether. No more beers with dinner, I promise, okay?” He’s trying so hard. It’s killing her.

 

“It’s not that. I just don’t--”

 

“I don’t believe you, ____. I remember when we first got married, we talked all the time about having kids. You were so  _ excited _ . What happened to that? It can’t just disappear that quick, there has to be some kind of reason…”

 

It’s hard for her to hold back her tears. She swallows hard. “I’m done talking about this. Let’s just talk about something else.”

 

Zen shakes his head, moving towards her. She retreats slightly, afraid that if he touches her, she’ll break. Right now she’s made of glass. He frowns slightly and stops, worried she’s upset at him.

 

“No, because I know you. If we don’t talk now, we’ll keep putting it off until it’s unavoidable.”

 

She knows he’s talking about sex. For some reason, it annoys her. “I said I wanted to stop talking, can’t you respect that? And there’s nothing left to talk about, I already told you my answer. I don’t want them. At all.”

 

He must hear the agitation in her tone because his eyebrows furrow and small spark of fury flares up in his crimson eyes. “Why are you being so damn stubborn?”

 

“Why won’t you just drop it?!” Her voice is louder than she wants it to be. Keeping this secret from him has been taking a toll on her. Her stress level’s been too high recently and it’s so much easier for him to set her off now.

 

“Because I really want kids!” He yells.

 

“I don’t! So stop asking! It’s over, we’re done with this conversation.” She turns away from him, moving towards the kitchen to look for her keys. If she doesn’t leave soon, she might say something she shouldn’t. Why is he being so difficult? She already knows why, and it makes her feel worse. He’s the love of her life and she can’t give him what he wants. She can’t make him happy.

 

“No, it’s not over! This is between the both of us, so we both have to make this decision.” He follows her, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the growing agitation in his chest. “Let’s talk this out. You can tell me all of your reasons you feel so strongly about this, and I’ll do the same.”

 

She whirls to face him, stopping in her tracks. “There’s nothing to talk about. My reasons are only one and it’s simple: I don’t want children.”

 

He stops, almost running into her. His hands curl into fists at his sides, then uncurl, as he breathes, attempting to calm the storm within him. “What about what I want? Did you even think about that?”

 

That catches her off guard. Of course she’s thought about it, she thinks about it all the time. It’s why she’s being this way with him, why it’s tearing her apart that more than anything she just wants to make him happy, but she can’t.

 

“Of course. Of course I--”

 

“Did you?” His interruption hints at his agitation. “It sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.”

 

She bites her lip, averts her eyes away from his gaze, fiddles with a loose string on her sweater. Her lies are piling up and jumbling together. It’s hard to keep her reasons straight. She can’t come up with one reason why she doesn’t want children. This, she thinks, will be her downfall. He knows her. He’ll eventually find out. So why doesn’t she tell him?

 

“Did you think about how you made me think for the longest time that you wanted this? You practically lied to me this whole time, why did you do that?” Zen’s voice is strained. Whether it’s from restrained anger or tears, she doesn’t know.

 

“I didn’t lie!” That’s the truth at least, it feels good to let some of it out; it’s been bottled up inside her, festering.

 

“You might as well have! The least you can do is tell me why. I get that you don’t want them, and that’s a legitimate reason, but I need more than that. I need more than just one reason so I can bury the notion forever. Otherwise, it won’t die.”

 

Die. She’s killing one of his dreams One way or another. Through this lie, or through the truth. One just makes her feel powerless. She didn’t decide to be barren, it just happened, and there was nothing she could do to change it. That was the truth. In her lie, she could choose. In her lie she’s independent, strong-willed-- not a slave to her biology. But...in her lie, she’s also a betrayer of her husband’s trust, breaker of his heart. She knows that if she tells him, he’ll be upset, but she also knows he’ll accept her still, love her still. The thing is, she can’t accept it herself.

 

“I don’t know,” she starts, avoiding his eyes again, “somewhere along the way I just stopped wanting them.”

 

“You’re not even trying.”

 

Anger sparks in her chest again and she clenches her fists. “Maybe it’s because you won’t leave me alone?” 

 

Venom. It permeates her words and twists them. Hurts him more than she intends.

 

“All you’ve wanted to be is alone for months now! Every time I try to be intimate, you pull away from me. How the hell is this my fault? You’re the one being selfish!” His voice is loud with fury, but she can still sense his pain. It does nothing but fuel her fire.

 

“I’m selfish?” She lets out a half-puff of a disbelieving laugh. “That’s funny, because it really seems like you’re the one being selfish here. Why isn’t one reason good enough? If you really love me, one reason should be enough!”

 

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I understand you!” His hands raise in exasperation, voice becoming higher in pitch. “I mean, fuck, you changed your mind about it out of nowhere, of course I need more than one little reason! People don’t just change their minds that quick without some kind of complicated reason.”

 

“Well I do change my mind that quick! And the answer is no, okay?!”

 

“Why are you being such a bitch?!”

 

There it is. It sets her off, sends her hand catapulting through the air, palm meeting his soft cheek with a resounding  _ slap _ . His head jerks to the side with the force of it. Her hand stings. His hand raises to his face in disbelief, gingerly touching the reddening skin on his cheek. For a moment, his eyes are wide, expression shocked, but it quickly fades into one of silent, seething anger. He turns his head back to look at her, eyes a dull, emotionless vermillion.

 

“Okay. That’s it then. No kids. Guess I’ll have to just fucking accept it.” His voice is flat, but she can hear the fury and hurt in it. He brushes past her, walking quickly into the kitchen. She hears the jingle of keys, then he’s heading to the coat closet, grabbing his leather coat and slipping quickly into it before reaching up to the shelf above the coats.

 

He’s holding his motorcycle helmet. Her heart drops into her stomach. He hasn’t gone riding in months, and right now he’s angry-- and reckless.

 

“Zen. Zen, please don’t--”

 

He whirls on her, hands gripping the sides of the helmet so tight his knuckles turn white. “Don’t what? I’m going for a ride.” He shoves the helmet under one of his arms and holds it there, making for the door. “Don’t try to stop me, because it won’t fucking work.”

 

She tries anyway, tears blooming on her lashes, voice a pitiful whine. “Please don’t, you’re not thinking straight right now. You’re too upset, y-you shouldn’t--” In the middle of her talking, he opens the door and steps out, not making any indication he’s heard her. The anxiety in her is rising; she tries pleading with him one last time.  “Babe,  _ please _ !”

 

He turns, looks her dead in the eye...and slams the door closed without another word. She hears him descend the stairs, hears the loud roar of his motorcycle starting, and the fading noise of him driving away. Then, there’s only silence.

 

Her hand moves to rest above her heart, clutching the fabric of her clothing there. What has she done? She didn’t mean for it to happen that way, it just did. She  _ was _ a bitch to him, and now he’s out there, angry and alone, speeding away on that death machine. That’s what it is, she has said it to him so many times, and he agreed he wouldn’t ride it too much. He told her he’d be careful, but Zen is never a careful person when he’s angry, she knows that.

 

She starts sobbing, a horrible feeling bubbling up in her chest. What if he doesn’t think straight? What if something happens to him? She’ll be at rehearsals all day and even if she could call off and go after him, she doesn’t know where he’s going, or where he’ll be. All she can do is pull out her phone and dial his number. All she can do is leave a message on his machine and hope that he hears it and calms down. She hopes he can forgive her. His voice is bright in her ear, happy, far from what he is now. It pains her. There’s a dull beep and suddenly she can’t remember what it is she wanted to say.

 

“Zen, I...I hope you listen to this message. I’m sorry, I…,” she sobs mid-sentence, struggling to keep herself together. “There’s something I need to tell you and it’s...it’s the reason you wanted. I just didn’t want to tell you because I was scared to say it, but...I’m just sorry, okay? Please come home safe. Please.”

 

There’s a long silence. She sniffles, pulling herself together.

 

“I love you. I’ll see you later...bye.” 

 

She hangs up the phone and wipes the sleeve of her sweater across her eyes, taking deep breaths. Regardless of what’s going on, she has to go to work. She has to act, she has to look presentable. She can’t cry.

 

The only thing she can think about on the drive there is how her hand had felt against his cheek and the look of utter betrayal in his eyes afterward; she should have told him the truth. The thought comes to her again and again, slamming against her skull like a battering ram.

 

She should have told him the truth.


	2. Wreckage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting these done pretty quick, I can't seem to stop writing! This one was hard to write, but I also enjoyed it. It's a little on the short side, compared to the first chapter, but I don't really have a set amount of words I'm doing per chapter. I'm starting and ending them when it feels right. That being said...brace yourself.

The wind whips past him, cool and refreshing. It does nothing to help. Inside the helmet, the world is quiet, and Zen can finally hear himself think. There’s a fire burning in his gut, loud and angry, and he’s questioning everything he knows. It’s eating him up, turning him to ashes.

 

Why doesn’t she want a family? He keeps asking himself that, which doesn’t help him become any less pissed-- or hurt. Is it him? Does she think he won’t be a good father? That’s something he’s also worried about, but he knew it was also something he’d get through fine with her help, but it doesn’t seem like she’s on his side anymore. Is she afraid she won’t be a good mother? This is something that also crossed his mind while they were going at it. Maybe she was angry because she felt insecure and he kept pressing the issue.

 

He sighs, breath fogging the visor on his helmet of a brief second before it dissipates. Regardless of her reasons, he still feels wronged. He’s still furious, both at her and himself. He knows he should have dropped the subject sooner. Realizing that only deepens the turmoil within him. 

 

Her face keeps appearing in his mind; that look in her eyes right before he slammed the door. She was so scared, so worried. Zen knows how she feels about him going riding. He knows that she’s terrified that he’ll get into an accident, even after he told her he’s careful and that she shouldn’t worry so much. Right now she’s probably panicking, he thinks, and it pisses him off that the thought makes him feel bad. She hurt him, why should he care if he hurt her back?

 

_ You love her, that’s why, _ he thinks.  _ Fucking idiot. _

 

His eyes glance ahead at the open stretch of road. There’s not many cars in sight, and he’s going a little faster than he needs to be, but that’s okay. He’s careful, always careful, but his wife was right, he’s not thinking straight, so when he sees the light ahead turn yellow he thinks,  _ I have time _ , and keeps going, not slowing down. When the light turns red before he gets there, he thinks, i _ t’s too late to stop, I’m going too fast _ , so he goes through it. It doesn’t matter, he’s hasn’t been in an accident since he was young. He’s fine.

 

One moment. One lapse of judgement. That’s all it takes.

 

The bus comes in from the left. It had been going its normal speed and the light ahead had turned green a little bit before it got there, so it didn’t slow down. Everything is business as usual until the bus driver sees the man on the motorcycle. He swerves right, trying to miss him, but can’t turn fast enough. It blindsides the back end of the bike, sending the man on it flying. The bus hurtles towards the curb, crashing straight into a concrete barrier, jettisoning the driver out of his seat, through the windshield, and onto the pavement in a bloody mess.

 

Zen hits the ground hard, head exploding in pain as his helmet smashes into the asphalt. His body erupts in sharp bursts of agony as he rolls across the road, coming to a halt directly in the path of another oncoming car. It makes a hard left to avoid him, and it would have, but the car in the next lane smashes hard into its front end, sending it spinning back towards him. The tires roll onto Zen’s left leg as it comes to a screeching halt. He’s pinned.

 

For a moment, everything is eerily silent as he lays there. His eyes are half-open, blearily trying to see what’s going on through his cracked visor. He’s suddenly very aware of his bones. The back of his skull is pounding. His ribs scream every time he breathes. There’s an excruciating throbbing in his right leg. He can’t feel his left. He’d be screaming if he could think straight, everything is jagged and foggy, and he can’t comprehend what just happened; it doesn’t seem real. He goes in and out of existing, his consciousness playing hide and seek.

 

There’s a child crying. He opens his eyes again and strains his neck towards the noise. From where he’s lying, he can see the back view of the driver’s seat of the car that’s on him. A woman’s in there, slouched, head lolling to the side. There’s red smeared on the window, a crack where she must have hit her head. The crying is coming from the back seat, above him. He wonders for a moment if the woman is alive. He wonders if he just killed a child’s mother.

 

Another breath, more pain. He keeps fading in and out, almost like drifting in and out of sleep when you’re dead tired and just can’t stay awake anymore. That’s how he feels, but it’s the pain that’s making him tired. There’s so much of it that he can’t tell where it’s coming from anymore. He turns his head again, to the right this time, blurring vision spotting what looks like a body near the bus across the way. Crimson skid marks trail behind it, and the way the limbs are twisted lets Zen know that it’s definitely a dead body over there. That’s two people he’s probably killed now. He closes his eyes again, fighting a wave of nausea. If he vomits now, he’s afraid his ribs will puncture his insides with the effort.

 

He’s not stupid. He knows his ribs are broken, he can  _ feel  _ it. His right leg, too. There’s some parts of him that are going numb, and he knows it’s probably from blood loss, but he can’t lift his head enough to get a good look at himself. He tries to move one of his arms to try and check himself that way, but it aches, and feels too heavy for him to even try. Everything feels like it’s spinning, even though he’s lying on his back, perfectly still. His breath comes in small, ragged puffs.

 

His wife was right, he thinks, and now he might not see her again. The thought comes sudden and terrifying. What if this is it? What if he dies here like a dog in the middle of the street and she’s left alone, blaming herself for this. He won’t be able to tell her he’s sorry, or that it wasn’t her fault. He won’t be able to tell her it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want kids because he’ll still love her regardless. He’ll always love her, always, and he wants so badly to tell her that one more time, at least.

 

Zen has never been this scared in his entire life. Everything else he was afraid of at some point seems like a minor inconvenience compared to this. His head hurts so badly he can barely see straight. The highway’s cracked and distorted through the shattered glass of his helmet, the car lights smears of white. All the sounds are beginning to merge into a bubbling mess of noise-- shocked voices, worried whispers, distant sirens, muffled crying. His cheeks are wet and he doesn’t know if it’s tears or blood. His chest is on fire. It almost feels like he’s drowning because he just can’t seem to get enough air. His eyes keep closing, whether he wants them to or not. Every time he opens them again, the world is more distorted. There’s flashing red and blue lights now. How long has he been lying here?

 

Zen forces his wandering mind to focus. He pictures his wife’s face, smiling, laughing...the images are foggy in his mind, but they’re still real. They still happened. He thinks about how she looked in her dress the day they got married, and how he had cried at the sight of her. She was his, and he was hers, and he had been so unbelievably happy. He thinks about how she looks when she curls up on the couch to read scripts with him, and how she scrunches her nose and makes faces when she does the different voices. He can hear her almost, through all the fuzziness in his mind, her voice seems as clear as day.

He can’t die, he can’t. He’s not ready to give her up, not ready to leave her. It’s selfish of him to want to stay when he’s caused so much destruction, so much pain. He knows his ignorance has hurt people, knows that he probably deserves to die in the middle of the highway. It’s poetic, it’s his just desserts. Man runs red light, causes horrible accident and dies-- he can imagine the headlines. He can see the people shaking their heads, whispering to each other.

 

_ Serves him right… _

 

_ He deserved it, for doing something like that. _

 

A cough works its way up through him, spasms of searing pain exploding in his sides. The taste of iron is in his mouth.  _ Please, _ he begs,  _ please let me live. _ It’s getting harder to breathe. Darkness is creeping into the sides of his vision. The voices are getting quieter. Blue and red lights flash, melding with the blackness enveloping everything.

 

Suddenly everything gets quiet. He can hear his own breath, rattling through his lungs, wet, distorted...then, nothing. He doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. He’s floating. His last coherent thought before the void takes him is small, simple.

 

_ Let me live. For her. _


	3. Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this, and I hope you guys are liking it too! I introduce two OCs in this chapter, one of which I freaking adore now after coming up with more of his story and character. Hoping you guys take a liking to him too. Enjoy!

“You’re a little off today, are you sure you’re doing alright?” Her agent’s gaze is concerned as he holds out a water bottle to her.

 

“I-- Zen and I had a little argument this morning, that’s all. It’s nothing.” She waves a dismissive hand, takes the water bottle and opens it quickly, hoping that if she’s drinking he’ll stop asking questions.

 

“Okay...if that’s the case, you have to concentrate better out there. You’ve been doing too many takes per scene and I think the director is getting frustrated.” He sighs, runs a hand through his mussed-up blonde hair. “I put my neck out there trying to get you this role, so just...try to cheer up, okay? No pressure…”

 

She swallows a gulp of water and lets out a half-huff of a laugh. “No pressure, huh? Sure.”

 

He lets out a long sigh. “You know I’m just looking out for you. I mean, you’re my client, but you’re also my friend.”

 

“I know, I know. I’ll cool it in the emotional department…” She rubs her face with her hand, stressed. “Thanks, Jihoo.”

 

“Anytime. You have about five minutes until everyone gets called back. Think you’ll be better by then?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll try,” she says, plopping herself down in a chair.

 

“Okay, I’ll see in you in a few, then.”

 

When the door closes, she lets her walls come down. Her sigh is long and shaky, eyes filling with tears. She looks at herself in the mirror on the vanity in front of her and wonders when she became this pitiful. She used to be so bright, so optimistic, so ready to take on any role the director threw at her…

 

She remembers the first time she met Zen. It was before the RFA, back when she was doing musicals. Her role was a small one, and she was barely involved with Zen, but she had met him, and they had shared a few words. She thought he was handsome and sweet, but she didn’t think they’d meet again. She didn’t even mention it to him when she first entered the chatroom that day so many years ago. In all honesty, she hadn’t expected him remember her, which is most of the reason why she didn’t say anything, but when he saw her at the party, his eyes got wide and his expression lit up.

 

_ “It’s you! Oh my god…! This is crazy, it’s...it’s like fate.” He beams at her, takes her hand in his, and kisses it. “My princess.” _

 

A weak smile graces her lips, but only for a moment. The memory of Zen becoming tainted as she remembers the events of this morning. She glances at her phone, moves a hand to pick it up to check it--

 

No messages. No missed calls. She swallows and puts the phone down, trying to push down the anxiety that’s rising in her chest. There’s no time to worry right now, she scolds herself, taking what Jihoo said to heart. If she wants to keep this gig and help pay the bills, she’ll need to concentrate. Do it for Zen, she tells herself.

 

Deep breath in, slowly breathe out. She dabs her eyes with a tissue from the vanity top, doing her best not to mess up her makeup. Her eyes linger on her phone for a moment, hoping that somehow it’ll go off within the minute it takes her to stand up and start heading for the door, but it doesn’t. She makes her way back out to the set, slowly slipping her mind back into the space of the character she’s supposed to be playing.

 

A stern businesswoman with a hard tone and a virtually expressionless face. Normally, she would have no trouble with a character like this, but today she’s too emotional and worried. It shows. And if it shows, her character is suddenly sympathetic, which isn’t supposed to happen until after the climax of the story. The director has mentioned it several times already, but that was before she took her break. Now she’s going to try and suck it up. She’s going to be better.

 

_ For Zen. _

 

“Alright, we’ll take scene five from the top! Places, please!” The director booms, watching them all from his chair. His appearance is average, and he’s a little on the short side, but his voice is loud and commanding-- a born director.

 

Everyone moves to their places, shoes making shuffling noises against the hardwood floor of the set. Her own shoes make clicking noises-- heels, and quite uncomfortably talls ones, at that. She straightens her posture, thinks like she’s in charge and attempts to harden her expression. So far, so good.

 

“Quiet on the set!”

 

Like magic, everyone falls into a hush that swallows the room whole. There’s a beat of anticipated silence, thick with the tension of waiting for that singular word that will immediately whip them all into character.

 

“And...action!”

 

Extras begin to walk through the fake office, some walking quickly holding papers, others taking their time, or stopping to chat it up with a fellow employee. _____ makes her way towards the protagonist: a tall, spindly man with short brown hair, whose ‘unconventional attractiveness’ won him the role. His character is awkward and charming; the typical lovable office intern type. The actor behind him, Cho-Rim, is far from awkward, and very talkative. It gets him in trouble more often than not, especially the gossip, but he isn’t that bad of a guy. He even took a liking to her, which Zen found completely obnoxious.

 

When she reaches him, her mind goes blank for a moment, then the lines slowly pour back into her memory. She raises an eyebrow at him, expression molding into one of annoyance.

 

“Ahem. Do you have those papers for me yet?” Her tone is sharp and calculated. Perfect.

 

He flinches, surprised, dropping a number of papers on the ground and stuttering out an apology. “N-No, ma'am. I’m sorry, I-- I was getting them together and well...now I’ve dropped them.”

 

She lets out a long sigh, pushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “I need those papers by noon, Mister Lee. I trust you’ll have them together the next time I come asking, yes?”

 

“Ah-- yes, of course,” he bends down, quickly beginning to pick up the scattered pieces. “You did say to alphabetize them, right?”

 

“Yes, I did. You know, you could be a decent employee if you put more effort into your work...or at least perhaps you could try to be less clumsy.”

 

Zen’s laugh intrudes into her mind, unwanted. _ “Jesus Christ, this woman’s a bitch...you sure she gets redeemed at the end?” _

 

_ She smiles, amused at his reaction. “Yes, I’m sure! Look at act three.” _

 

_ He flips through the script, stopping and making a face. “Tragic past? Seems a little cliche, but it works. Wait a minute...you have to kiss this guy?” _

 

_ She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I do. He’s not an asshole, though, so that’s a plus.” _

 

_ “It’d be better if he was an asshole...then I wouldn’t be worried about you liking him.” He smiles as if he’s joking, and he is a little, but she can tell part of him is actually concerned. _

 

_ “Zen. I love you, and only you.” She leans forward, gives his lips a quick peck, then pulls back, smiling. _

 

_ A light blush is on his pale cheeks and he’s grinning. “Come here, you.” _

 

_ He pulls her into a passionate kiss, moving a hand to run through her hair-- _

 

“Miss Park, are you okay?” His voice snaps _____ out of her memories, and she realizes she’s missed her line. She meets his concerned eyes. Slightly in character, but she can tell it’s Cho-Rim being worried and not Mister Lee.

 

“Yes. I was...rehearsing a pitch for a meeting I have coming up.” Good save, but she has to sell it. She looks at her watch. “Speaking of, I must be going. Papers by noon, Lee. Don’t forget.”

 

“Yes, ma'am. I won’t let you down.” He smiles, straightening the papers gathered in his arms. She nods curtly and turns, heading toward her office. 

 

“Cut!” The director’s voice rings through the room. He sounds a little exasperated, and ____ stops in her tracks, slowly turning to face him, worried he’ll be looking at her.

 

He is, and he looks disappointed. “Mrs. Ryu, that was...in character, but I’m not sure if your improvising held up to the original intent of the scene. We’ll have to do it again. Please stick to the script this time.”

 

She nods, heart sinking. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I’ll do it right this time.”

 

He nods. “Good. Everyone, get back to your places. Scene five, from the top!”

 

The scene moves again, and she works her way through it, duplicating her performance from earlier, but this time, paying attention when Cho-Rim speaks his next line.

 

“Sorry, I’ve been clumsy ever since I was young. It runs in the family actually.” He lets out a little laugh.

 

She keeps her expression stern. “Hm. Perfection runs in mine. So I suggest you try harder.”

 

“O-Oh, of course. Yes, I’ll...sorry…” He finishes picking up the papers and holds them in one arm, moving his open hand to scratch his head nervously. “I’ll try harder.”

 

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be...uhm…” She freezes up, heart starting to beat faster. Dammit, what was the line? Her skin crawls. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her. The lights suddenly seem so bright, so hot.

 

Cho-Rim stands there, trying to stay in character, but he looks worried again. She lets out a long sigh. “I forgot my line. I’m...sorry, I’ll get it the next take.”

 

“Cut!” The director yells again, then huffs, shaking his head. “Mrs. Ryu is something wrong? You’ve been difficult today, and to be brutally honest, it’s getting on my nerves.”

 

Red-hot embarrassment tinges her cheeks pink. “I-- It’s been a long day.”

 

“Do you need another break?” Cho-Rim butts in, cocking his head to the side. “Maybe you should meditate a little, that always helps me--”

 

“Thank you for your input, Cho-Rim, but I don’t think it would be fair to give her another break. I would have to give everyone else one, too.”

 

Jihoo comes in from the sidelines, carrying his clipboard, obviously ready to jump to her aid in the legal department. “Actually, it would be fair. According to our contract with you, Mrs. Ryu is allowed three personal breaks per seventy-two work hours. This can be one of those breaks.”

 

_____ glances towards him, eyes grateful. The director rubs his forehead, obviously annoyed at Jihoo now, too. “Fine. She can have another break. Five minutes, that’s all I’m giving you, got it?”

 

“Yes. Thank you.” She nods thankfully at him, then turns and heads quickly for her dressing room, feeling the tears starting the moment she turns her back. Multiple sets of footsteps follow her and she bites her lip. Jihoo she doesn’t mind seeing her like this, but Cho-Rim...he’ll probably end up talking to everyone about how  _ sad _ she was and how he wanted to help her. It’s not something she wants people knowing about.

 

When she reaches her door, she closes it as soon as she can, signaling that she doesn’t want to be disturbed. The first thing she does is head for her phone. It pulls her in like a powerful magnet, hand immediately reaching for it as soon as she’s in range. She turns the screen on, hoping.

 

Nothing. A few stray tears slip down her cheeks and she moves to throw her phone, but the second she raises her arm to chuck it, the phone begins to ring. Her heart leaps into her chest. Zen’s name and picture are on the screen. She hits the answer button so fast she almost drops her phone.

 

“Hyun! Thank god, I was so worried, where are you?” It’s not often she uses his birth name, but this time it slips from her tongue with ease.

 

“Am I speaking to Mrs. Ryu?” The voice on the other line is alien, low and unfamiliar.

 

Her eyes widen, pit forming in her stomach. The very worst possibility jumps into her mind:  _ he’s dead _ . She feels like she might vomit. Her voice is strained, throat tightening from the tears that are now consistently making trails to her chin. “Y-Yes, I’m her. What...what’s going on? Is...is he alive? Please tell me he’s alive, oh god…”

 

“He's alive. He's in surgery right now, but we're confident he'll pull through. There was a accident and he was thrown from his motorcycle. His injuries were severe, but not life-threatening because he received immediate attention.”

 

She breathes a shaky sigh of relief, hand moving to cover her mouth to stifle a sob.

 

“Ma’am? Stay with me now, I need you to come to the hospital so you can fill out paperwork and wait for your husband to be out of surgery, can you do that?”

 

“Y--” Another sob. “Yes, yes I can do that.”

 

He tells her the hospital, the floor number, which desk she needs to go to, who she needs to ask for...and he apologizes. He knows this is hard, he says, but it's not the hardest call he's had to make today. Be thankful, he tells her, you could have gotten another call. She is thankful. She vows to never take Zen for granted again.

 

She hangs up the phone, wipes her eyes, and starts hastily packing up her things, shoving her script haphazardly into her purse. There's a creak as the door opens behind her.

 

“____? Is everything-- what are you doing?”Jihoo’s voice is confused. He lingers in the door, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Zen's been in an accident. I have to go.” She replies quickly, slinging her purse onto her shoulder and brushing past him, trying to keep herself from breaking down.

 

Jihoo turns and follows her, distressed. “An accident?! Is he okay?!”

 

“He's alive,” she answers, not sure if he's okay, or if he will be okay after this. She hasn't seen the extent of his injuries yet. “I'm going to the hospital now, I can't be here, I'm sorry.”

 

“No, I-- I understand, don't apologize. Go to him. I'll take care of the director.” He walks quickly ahead of her and opens the door to the parking lot, holding it open.

 

She gives him a weak smile and a quick “thank you” before speed-walking to her car in those dangerous heels.

 

The drive there is harrowing. She's trying not to speed or drive recklessly-- it would all be in vain if she got into an accident too --but she lets herself slip sometimes. Her parking job sucks, and she almost hit another parked car on the way in, but it's the closest open spot and she needs to go. She doesn't want to spend another second away from him.

 

She waits for five hours. The paperwork is done in one, and she sits there for another hour before her anxiety turns into nail-biting worry, then panic when the next hour hits. One of the nurses tells her it's okay, these things take time. He's okay. She wants to believe her, but the nagging feeling that something's gone terribly wrong won't leave. Another hour passes and her fidgeting turns into pacing. She spends the last hour sitting slouched forward, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands.

 

The sound of people coming and going has become so familiar to her that she doesn’t even budge when the doctor approaches her. His hand finds her shoulder and she jumps, posture straightening immediately, eyes watching him expectantly, eyelids red and puffy from all her crying.

 

“The surgery went well, he's in stable condition. Of course, he'll need to be here for a few months, but after a short adjustment period, he should be fine.” The doctor manages a small smile.

 

Her eyes widen. “A few months…? How...how bad were his injuries?”

 

His expression falls and he pauses before sitting in the chair next to her with a long sigh.

 

“Well, he has a moderate concussion from the head trauma caused in the accident, a handful of broken ribs, a broken right leg and--” He pauses, looking conflicted. Her heart thumps painfully. “This is going to be shocking, and hard to hear both for you and for him, but the way the accident played out, there was no other option.”

 

“What? What's happened?” Her voice is a terrified whisper. With all those injuries, Zen's lucky to be alive, so she can only imagine what horror he's about to tell her.

 

“The car that pinned him was resting on his left leg and virtually crushed it from the knee down. There was nothing left to work with or save, so I'm afraid we had to amputate his leg above the knee. I'm sorry...I know he was a dancer from his records and this must be difficult for you to process…”

 

Amputated. That's two dreams of his she's killed now. If she hadn’t of fought him, none of this would have happened. He'd have both his legs, all his ribs, and no concussion. He'll never be able to dance again. Maybe someday, after enough practice and a good prosthetic, but it won't be the same. Not to him.

 

“Take some time to process this. I'll show you to his room when you're ready, alright?” He lightly pats her shoulder, then stands. “He won't be awake for a while, so you have time. We're keeping him asleep for now to help his concussion heal faster.”

 

“He...he has no idea? About his leg?” She asks, voice soft and pitiful. A scared child.

 

He shakes his head. “No. I think, and this is just my opinion, that you should be the one to tell him. News like that is always easier to process when it's being said by a loved one. If he sees you're calm about it, he'll be prone to accept it more quickly than if I had told him”

 

“O-Okay…”

 

“Just tell one of the nurses when you're ready and they'll come and get me. Please don't rush yourself, I know this news is hard to take.” He gives her a sympathetic look before turning and heading down the hallway, leaving her alone with the crushing weight of what she's done.

 

Her hands are shaking as she runs them through her hair, a small sob bubbling up into her throat. This is all her fault. If she had told him the truth instead of lying and blowing up on him and  _ slapping _ him, none of this would have ever happened. She keeps imagining his reaction, keeps thinking about how heartbroken he'll be, how  _ devastated _ …

 

He's alive physically, but...what about emotionally? When she tells him, he's going to die a little inside. And it's all her fault. She caused this. She's poison, a venomous snake, a heinous  _ bitch _ …

 

She'll be the death of him.


	4. Wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting really good feedback on this fic so far and I just want to say thank you!! It really gives me the motivation to write when I see people enjoying my works. Chapters may be coming out in longer intervals now, as the holidays are coming up (and finals!), and I'm also working hard to put the plot together and make it compelling + interesting. Hope you guys like this chapter! :)

When Zen finally comes to, the first thing he’s aware of are the noises. There’s muffled conversation coming from somewhere behind him. Someone’s breathing, quiet and slow, not too far to the left of him. Strange beeping noises sound from above him, droning on and on as the rest of his senses slowly return to him.

 

He can feel his body again. Well, most of it. His upper body feels heavy, and his mind works sluggishly as he tries to remember how he got here-- wherever here is. One of his hands twitches, then lays flat on the mattress, feeling the sheets. He’s in a bed, he thinks, taking a shaky breath. The room smells like a mix of chemicals and cheap air freshener. This isn’t home. His torso aches dully. Everything below his waist is numb. He tries to open his eyes but his eyelids are lead. A small groan leaves him.

 

There’s a creak beside him, a small gasp, and then someone’s grabbing his hand.

 

“Zen…?” Her voice washes over him like a refreshing wave.

 

“_____…” he whispers her name, struggling to open his eyes again. They open just slightly, and the bright lights on the ceiling blind him for a moment. He lifts his open hand to rub his face. It’s so heavy. Why does everything feel heavy? “Where...am I…?”

 

His own voice surprises him. It’s slightly slurred, almost as if he were drunk. He tries to open his eyes and succeeds this time, blinking a few times to get used to the light. The room is cozy, but not too small, walls painted a bland white, floors a common blue linoleum. His gaze moves to his hand, gripped gently in his wife’s, and the small clear tubes taped to his wrist catch his attention. They curve up along his arm and end at the crook of his elbow. An IV. The beeping suddenly makes sense. Hospital...he’s in a hospital.

 

She doesn’t answer his question, but merely gives him a sad smile. Her eyes are puffy and there’s dark circles under her eyes. Zen’s heart sinks. How long has he been asleep? More than that, why was he here? He’s badly injured, that’s obvious from the haziness of his mind from the drugs and the pained look on his wife’s face. He takes a shaky breath in, wracking his brain for any remembrance.

 

First, he remembers the fight.The sting of the slap on his cheek is vivid. So is the terrified look in _____’s eyes as he slams the door and gets on his motorcycle. Fuck. The motorcycle. It’s slowly coming back to him. He remembers a sharp flash of pain, then he’s flying through the air, hitting the ground hard. He remembers excruciating pain, a smear of red on the highway, cracked glass, flashing lights...someone crying. His eyes widen and he weakly squeezes his wife’s hand, partly to comfort her and partly to quell the fear rising in his chest.

 

“I...I almost died, didn’t I? The accident…” He croaks, voice almost a whisper.

 

She sniffles, holds his hand a little tighter. “Yes…”

 

The fear in him is replaced with an overwhelming sadness. She must have been so worried. She must have been sitting there the whole time, crying. It’s his fault. His eyes prick with tears, suddenly wanting to hold her close to him and tell her he loves her over and over, so grateful he survived. So grateful that he gets to live more of his life with her next to him.

 

“C-Come here...please…” he begs, voice strained. “I want to...hold you…”

 

Her lower lip quivers and she lets out a soft sob, leaning her body down to rest slightly against the bed, nestling her head into his shoulder. He wants more of her, wants to hold her tightly against his chest, but he knows he’s too fragile for that. His eyes close, letting the tears slowly stream down from his eyes, making wet beads on the thin sheets. He leans his head lightly against hers, moving his hand to stroke her hair, his other hand gripping hers tightly.

 

“I love you...God, I love you so much, I’m so sorry…” It’s hard for him to speak. There’s so much pain in his chest, so much guilt.

 

“I love you too…” Her voice is muffled, and he can feel dampness on his shoulder. She must be crying too. “Please...don’t apologize, you-- it’s not your fault.”

 

He bites his lip, inhales shakily, and runs his hand through her hair again. “It  _ is _ my fault, though. I caused the crash…”

 

She shifts slightly, lifting herself up enough so her face hovers above his. Her eyes glisten with tears, eyebrows knitting together. He meets her gaze, suddenly very painfully aware of how close he had been to never looking into her eyes again.

 

“No. Don’t-- don’t talk like that, okay? Please, just...focus on feeling better.” Her voice is sincere, but there’s something else in her eyes that tells him she knows something he doesn’t.

 

“How many…?” He whispers, horrified to know the answer, but he needs to know. “How many people did I kill?”

 

Her hand finds his cheek, caressing it softly. She shakes her head. “No, I’m...don’t ask those kinds of questions. Please.”

 

Zen closes his eyes, knowing that it must be bad if she’s not telling him. He remembers the mangled body of the bus driver on the road and the child’s crying coming from above him. Did that woman die too? She must have. She won’t tell him, though. He knows her well. If she’s decided to not to tell, then she won’t. It’s all to spare his feelings.  _ Fuck my feelings. I deserve to feel as shitty as I do _ , he thinks. 

 

There’s something else that’s bothering him, though. Something just doesn’t feel right. He knows he’s under a lot of medication, but it doesn’t fully explain why there’s a dull touch of feeling in his right leg, but not his left. Did they numb the whole leg? It’s probably badly broken. What side had the bus hit him from again?

 

“If...you won’t tell me, then answer something else for me.” He opens his eyes again, wanting to see her reaction to what he’s about to ask.

“What is it?” Her words are hushed, the ghost of fear on her face. What is she hiding?

 

“How badly did I get hurt? I can’t feel some of my body…”

 

Her eyes widen slightly. She averts her gaze, hand leaving his cheek and moving to rub her forehead. He’s never seen her this stressed.

 

“Well, you...it’s pretty bad. You have a concussion and a few broken ribs. Your...right leg is broken, too.”

 

His right leg? He raises his eyebrows, then furrows them, confused. If it’s his right leg that’s broken, why can he feel it and not his left?

 

“Oh. What about my left leg? Did I break that too?”

 

She suddenly looks guilty and nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. A long sigh leaves her, and she sits back upright in the chair, closing her eyes. There’s an anxiety rising up within him. Why is she acting like this? Something must be really wrong with him.

 

“No, you...it’s…” Her voice drifts off and a hand moves to cover her mouth, trying to stifle a sob, but he hears it anyway. His heart’s pounding.

 

“_____. What’s going on? What’s wrong with my left leg?”

 

She’s shaking, thick streams of tears pooling from her eyes. The hand that’s still grasping his squeezes it harder. He realizes she’s too distraught to answer him and he tries to sit up, ignoring the twinge of pain in his sides and the ache of protest in his head. He needs to see his leg. He needs to know what’s wrong.

 

“N-No-- Zen, don’t, please... _ wait- _ -”

 

He ignores her, removing his hand from her grasp, using his elbow to prop himself up. His other hand reaches for the sheets, gripping the edge and wrenching them to the side and off his legs--

 

His right leg is almost entirely encased in a thick white cast. That doesn’t surprise him. He remembers the excruciating pain after he’d hit the pavement and rolled. When he was lying there, everything hurt; all except his left leg. It had gone numb almost instantly, so why isn’t it broken, why can he still not feel it?

 

He finally moves his eyes to look at his left leg. It’s shrouded in white bandages, thickly padded. Zen’s eyes widen and the anxiety rises so fast within him he feels like he may burst. It floods all his senses, makes his mind reel. A choked gasp escapes his mouth and his hand moves to touch the bandages. He needs to touch it. He needs to make sure this is real and that his concussed brain isn’t just seeing things. His fingers trail down his thigh, moving to where his knee should be, but it’s gone. It’s all gone. His thigh ends in a stump of bandages and gauze. He touches it, slowly, gingerly...it’s real. This is real. It’s happening. He lost his leg.

 

“Wh-what... _ God _ , why?  _ Why?! _ ” His voice cracks, betraying his panic. There’s an incredible weight on his chest and the shock of it is so much he can’t feel the aching of his ribs anymore.

 

_____’s hand move quickly to grasp the one he has resting on his leg. “It was crushed in the accident...the doctor said it was unsavable, so he...he had to amputate it. It was the only way. I’m so sorry...I...I should have told you. You shouldn’t have found out this way…”

 

She’s crying again. If he was in his right mind right now, he’d console her, but he’s far from normal, far from okay. He can’t process it. His eyes are still wide, staring at where his leg used to be. His body starts to shake, breath coming in shorter gasps. Hyperventilating. He only realizes he’s crying when his vision blurs. He can’t think straight. Nothing's right. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

 

No more walking normally. No more dancing. Fuck, no more dancing. No working. No doing what he loves. He’ll have to sit still. He’ll have to wait until it heals. Until his right leg heals. Until his ribs heal, his head...he feels lightheaded all of a sudden. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? Is he dying?

 

“Zen, stop. Hey, look at me.” He feels her fingers lightly grip his chin to turn his head towards her. He forces his eyes to look at her but she’s a blur. “You need to calm down. Breathe. Just breathe.”

 

“I-I...can’t...I  _ can’t _ …” he gasps out between breaths. The pounding in his head is getting worse.

 

Her hand moves to his shoulder, squeezing it. He tries to focus on her touch, tries to calm down. It’s not working. This is too much. What’s happening? He can’t seem to get a breath fast enough, can’t seem to get any air. He can’t stop thinking about the same thing. It hammers into his head over and over: his career is over. He’ll never dance again. Never. It’s over.

 

_ It’s over, it’s over, it’s over… _

 

He can’t work anymore. He can’t bring money in. How will they live? _____ will have to work more. She’ll have to pay the bills alone. Alone. Fuck, is this what he is now? He’s dead weight. She has to drag him around. She’ll have to take care of him. Feed him, help him do everything. He tries to remember what it felt like to dance. He tries to make that memory more vivid, more solid. He won’t feel that again.

 

“Breathe. Please. Just breathe, babe…” She gets up from the chair and sits on the side of his bed, wrapping an arm around him. 

 

Zen leans into her, resting his head on her chest. She breathes slowly in, then out. The sound of her heartbeat against his ear is soothing. She’s still here. She’ll always be here. The rest of his life is turmoil right now, but she’s the constant. He follows her breathing, tries to focus on it. Her hand moves to stroke his hair and he closes his eyes. She’s here. He’s not alone.

 

Slowly, he calms down. His breathing slows and begins to match hers. She’s so warm against him, so tender in the way she runs her fingers through his hair.

 

“We’ll get through this. Together.” She whispers, and he knows it’s true.

 

She’ll make it out fine. Maybe he will too. He won’t be the same, though. His life changed the moment he decided to run that red light. He did this to himself. He did this to the other victims of the crash. It’s his fault.

 

And now he has to deal with the consequences.


	5. Reaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Finals were making me crazy and I've been running around trying to prepare for my family who's coming into town for the holidays. The next chapter may be a little slow too, depending on how much time I have between Christmas and New Year's. I'm so glad you all are enjoying this fic, I really enjoy writing it!! :)

“So everything’s okay? He’s going to live?” Jihoo’s voice comes through the phone, worried. It’s all he ever is now, it seems.

 

“Yes. He’ll live but...he’s not doing so great emotionally. He’s...taking it pretty hard.” She sighs, glances over at Zen’s sleeping form in the hospital bed. Even when he’s sleeping he looks distraught.

 

“It’s only been a few days since the accident...maybe he just needs some time.”

 

“Yeah…” Her eyes close for a moment, hand running through her hair. “So...did you just call to check up on me? Or is something up?”

 

Jihoo’s not the type to call without a work-related reason. He’s friendly, but formal. Always formal. A sigh comes from the other line.

 

“I tried to talk to the director about you keeping your role. I even explained the whole situation with Zen being in an accident and everything, but--”

 

“I lost the job?” The words are heavy on her tongue. She figured this would happen, but hearing about it just makes everything worse.

 

“Yes...I’m sorry, _____. I really am. I tried to get him to understand, but he just wasn’t having it. Damn prick.”

 

Her eyes widen. She’s never heard Jihoo swear before. “It’s okay, really. You tried, and that’s what matters. Thank you.”

 

“Are you sure? You don’t sound okay, and I don’t see how you could be okay after everything that’s happened…”

 

“No, I’m not okay. But I have to be, for him. I’m just...I don’t know how we’re going to be able to pay these bills. Zen’s not going to be able to work, and now I’m out of a job…”

 

Another sigh from Jihoo. “It’s a tough situation, that’s for sure. It shouldn’t have happened. Not to you two. You’re two of the kindest people I’ve met in show business.”

 

The ghost of a smile graces her lips. “Thanks. Just...keep a lookout for another gig. Maybe something smaller. One with a more lenient director.” She lets out a small huff of breath, letting her eyes wander towards Zen again. His chest rises and falls softly, the white locks of his hair spread across the pillow; his eyebrows are furrowed. Every now and again his hands tighten around the sheets. She closes her eyes, heart sinking. “...I’ll need to be with him through all of this. As much as I can.”

 

“I’ll start looking. Don’t worry too much, I’ll find something for you. Just focus on doing what’s best for you guys, alright? It’s bad out there, you know. You do know, right? The media’s gone ravenous over this whole deal.” He sounds annoyed, and sorry.

 

She knows. The calls started coming the day after the accident.  It’s why she never lets Zen watch the news. She always keeps the TV on the movie channel when it’s on, which is not too often. He prefers quiet. He likes to stare out the windows. He likes to sleep and, when she’s trying to rest and he thinks she’s asleep, he likes to cry. She hears him and it breaks her heart, knowing how much he’s hurting. Knowing she did this to him.

 

“Yes. I know.” Her voice is quiet, remorseful. “He doesn’t, though. I...plan to keep it that way for a bit longer.”

 

“It’s for the best. He doesn’t need to hear all that. Not right now.”

 

“No, he doesn’t. Not at all. He...doesn’t need any more hurt in his life than he already has.” She gulps, runs the back of her hand across her eyes, catching the stray tears that had begun to fall.

 

“Yeah.” Jihoo is quiet for a while. She can hear muffled voices in the background. He must be at the agency, she thinks. “Hey, there’s something else. Cho-Rim is on his way to see you two. He caught me talking to the director about you.”

 

Her eyes fly open. “He’s...what? I don’t think that’s a good idea. Zen’s sleeping right now and-- honestly, I don’t think having visitors will be good for him at this point.”

 

“I know, I tried to stop him. He said he wanted to pay respects to Zen and make sure you were okay.” The muffled voices on the other line grow louder. “I have to go, ______, I’m sorry. I’ll keep looking for a job for you. Hope everything works out.”

 

“Thanks, Jihoo. I hope so too. Bye.” She hangs up, lowering her cellphone to her lap and staring at the screen, thoughts racing.

 

“...so who’s visiting?” Zen’s voice catches her off guard. Her head shoots up to look at him, startled.

 

“Oh. Um...Cho-Rim’s coming to visit.”

 

Zen’s eyebrows knit together, lips curving downward in a grimace. He looks so beaten-down. A shell of his former self. There’s dark circles under his eyes. His eyes...the once bright crimson glow they had now appears dull, hollow. When he speaks again his voice is flat.

 

“Why?”

“He wants to make sure we’re okay. That’s...what Jihoo told me at least.” Her hand moves to place her phone on the side table before moving to gently rest on top of his. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “Will you be okay?”

 

A small sigh leaves him. He moves to sit up, slowly pulling his body upwards, wincing slightly. His hand reaches for his side; his ribs must be hurting again. She moves to help him, reaching behind him to prop up the pillows. Zen glances at her, grateful, before easing himself back on the pillows.

 

“Yeah, I...I should be fine. Just as long as he doesn’t stay long.”

 

She nods. “Okay. I don’t think he will.”

 

“Good. You were right. I don’t really... _ want _ visitors right now.” He frowns, glancing down at his hands. “I don’t want to face anyone. Not yet.”

 

It pains her to hear him say it like that. She knows he’s blaming himself. He moves his head to look at her, expression troubled.

 

“Have they...been asking about me?” He pauses, gaze drifting back to his hands. “The others.”

 

“Yes.” Jaehee and Jumin were the first to call, asking one too many questions that she didn’t know how to answer yet. Seven had called her a couple times just to make sure everything was okay. Yoosung had been crying the first time he called, under the impression Zen had died from the way Jaehee was acting, apparently. The next time he called, he was more composed, but still worried. He wanted to know if he should skip class to come see him, but she had told him no. Zen needed his space.

 

“Did you...did you tell them about…” His voice drifts off. He can’t even get the words out.

 

She bites her lip. “I did.”

 

“...and?” His hands are gripping the sheets now.

 

“They...they just kept asking how you were taking it. They wanted to be here.”

 

He closes his eyes, takes a long, deep breath. “Tell them...tell them I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see them yet. I need time.”

 

“Okay. I’ll tell them.” She pauses, then goes to ask him a question, but the sound of the door opening draws her attention.

 

Cho-Rim walks into the room holding a small bouquet of flowers. He’s smiling, but it’s not one of his usual bright ones-- it’s more reserved and sympathetic.

 

“Hello. I brought some flowers. Thought that you’d want something to brighten up the room. Hospitals can be so bland.” He glances around and sighs a little. “It can be suffocating.”

 

Zen watches him with wary eyes. She can’t read his expression. So far, he’s not angry, so that’s a good sign. He never did like Cho-Rim very much. She was never sure why.

 

“Thank you, I’m sure they’ll help make the room a little more cozy.” She says, managing a smile.

 

Cho-Rim grins back, laying the flowers down on the windowsill. He turns his gaze to Zen, grin fading slightly. “I’m...really sorry about what happened. Are you doing okay?”

 

“I’m...managing it.” Zen replies, trying to force a smile, but failing.

 

“Taking it one day at a time? That’s the best way to do it, if you ask me. You know what they say, time heals all wounds.”

 

Zen makes a little half-hum of agreement, but she can tell he’s just doing it to be polite. His expression says otherwise. He doesn’t agree. He probably thinks he’ll never heal from this.

 

“That’s very true. Thanks for the flowers, Cho-Rim. It was very sweet of you to visit.” She stands up from her chair, hoping that he’ll take the cue that his stay should be shorter, rather than longer.

 

His eyebrows raise. “Well, I had to! After what I heard with Jihoo and you losing the gig, I felt so bad about everything you two are going through that I had to bring something...it’s not right, really.”

 

Shit. Zen didn’t know about that yet. She glances quickly towards him, holding on to the impossible hope that he didn’t hear. His eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed. He’s biting his lip, looking guilty. She knows he’s blaming himself again.

 

“O-Oh, yes, I know. It’s been...tough for us. But we’re managing it, like Zen said.” She gulps, trying to think of a way to get him to leave without being rude. He’s not meaning to make things worse, she knows it. It’s not like him to intentionally hurt people. He’s just an oblivious man.

 

“Yeah, I know. Still, though, no one should have to put up with this kind of thing. Especially you guys.” Cho-Rim looks towards Zen, frowning. “I mean, the media’s just ruthless, they always are. I’m really sorry you have to deal with that. Don’t they get that you’re people too? They don’t even think for a second what you two are dealing with, they just point fingers. It...makes me so mad.”

 

Zen inhales shakily. “...thanks for your concern. I’m feeling a little tired now, though.”

 

“Oh! Yeah, of course, sorry. I just wanted to drop those flowers off, so I’ll go now and let you rest some.” Cho-Rim smiles, oblivious to the fact he just single-handedly brought two crushing truths down onto Zen’s back. He makes it to the door and waves. “Hope you have a fast recovery!”

 

“Thank you, Cho-Rim. Good luck with your role!” She says, trying to be polite, but also trying to get him out of the room as soon as possible.

 

“Thank you! Hope I see you around.” He smiles, then closes the door behind him.

 

Zen’s hand shoots out to grab the remote on the side table before _____ can even try to reach it.

 

“Zen, please, don’t--”

 

“It all makes sense now! I was wondering why you always had that shitty movie channel on but it’s so  _ obvious _ . You didn’t want me watching the media or what they’re saying about me.” He glares at her, oddly furious. “Do you think I can’t handle it?!”

 

“Well, I...it’s just not good for you to hear what they’re saying. It’s all garbage and lies, they don’t know you. They don’t know us.” She holds out her hand, eyes pleading with him. “Zen, please. Just give me the remote.”

 

“No. I don’t need you to fucking shelter me like I’m some kind of wounded animal.” He turns on the TV, clumsily presses the buttons for the channel he wants, anger making him input them too quickly and he gets the wrong channel. He hisses in dismay, then tries again, looking up at the screen as it finally changes to the right one.

 

_ “--thirty-one year old Park Sohyun was killed by the collision in Tuesday’s gruesome accident, caused by none other than well-known actor Zen, also known by his given name as Hyun Ryu. Many are asking why, wondering what is it that could have warranted such a senseless act from a once beloved member of the acting community that left one dead and many others fighting for their lives. We interviewed the deceased’s wife earlier in our spotlight session, finding out some heart-breaking details about the couple’s life together.” _

 

A woman appears on screen, eyes puffy with tears, distraught.

 

_ “He was-- we were g-going to be a family. He was...so excited to be a father and raise our daughter together but now he’s-- o-oh God, he’s gone. Who would do something like this? Why would he take my Sohyun away from me? Our d-daughter will have no father...what am I supposed to do now?” _

 

The woman breaks down, face in her hands, the swell of her heavily pregnant belly obvious against her pale yellow dress. It’s heart-breaking, that’s certain. This woman will never see her husband become a father. Zen stormed out of the house because he thought he’d never be one, either. It makes everything worse. The screen moves back to the reporter.

 

_ “You heard it first here. The reckless act of one man has taken a father away from a child, which begs the question: can Zen be forgiven? The viewers that we’ve asked seem to have come to a unanimous decision: no.” _

 

The station cycles through different interviews, each more biting than the last.

 

_ “I thought Zen really cared about people. I thought he wasn’t like most of the actors we see, but I was wrong. He only cares about himself.” _

 

_ “How the hell can you be that much of an asshole? Where did he need to be so fast that he thought it was okay to just run a red light like that? Hope getting to work early was worth it, you selfish prick!” _

 

_ “I hope he knows how much pain he’s caused, that’s all I want to say. I hope he realizes what he’s done and spends the rest of his life making up for it.” _

 

_ “He should quit acting, as far as I’m concerned. I know I won’t go to see anything with him in it anytime s--” _

 

The screen goes dark as Zen turns off the television. He’s quiet for a moment, body shaking slightly. Then, he hurls the remote across the room, shattering it against the opposite wall. He brings his hands to his face and covers it. She hears him hold back a sob.

 

“Zen, don’t listen to them, they don’t know--”

 

“I don’t--” He pauses to swallow as his voice cracks, “I don’t want to h-hear it, okay? I  _ don’t _ .”

 

She moves to go closer to him, wanting to hold him.

 

“_____, I...I need some time alone. Please.”

 

He sounds broken, more so than he ever has. She knows if she leaves, he’ll tear himself apart, but if she stays it may tear them both apart. That can’t happen. She needs to be his rock. She needs to be his comfort. But she also needs to give him space when he needs it, as much as it pains her.

 

“Okay. I’ll be back in a half hour. Will that be long enough…?”

 

“...make it an hour.” His voice is barely a whisper.

 

She frowns. “Okay, an hour.”

 

He nods slightly, hands still keeping his face from her view. Her heart’s heavy as she makes her way to the door and opens it, giving him one last glance before she leaves the room completely, closing the door.

 

The moment it shuts she hears him break down. She bites her lip and forces herself to walk away towards the waiting rooms, the sounds of his muffled sobs becoming quieter as she gets further and further away.


	6. Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a tad shorter than normal, but it also involves a lot of emotion, so it's a heavy chapter. I'm really getting into writing this and the ideas seem to be flowing a lot faster, so my updates should be pretty regular. I'm shooting for posting a chapter at least once a week :)

It’s become a mind-numbing process to Zen. The daily checkups, the doctor asking him how he’s feeling, the nurses attending to his bandages. Over and over, day after day. Even when night hits, it doesn’t end.

 

He’s not even safe in his dreams. Sometimes he dreams that ______ was on the motorcycle with him. He sees her mangled body, holds her in his arms and sobs, wishing with everything he is that it had been him. Sometimes he relives the crash, moment by moment, so vividly that he wakes drenched in his own sweat, completely convinced that it only just happened when in reality it’s been over a week.

 

When he’s not having nightmares, he’s kept awake by the pain. The soreness of his ribs and the constant, hot throbbing at the base of his amputated limb. He still gets the occasional headache, too, but it’s not as noticeable anymore. Not compared to the pain in his leg. At times, it feels like there’s an itch somewhere on it, somewhere that’s no longer there. All he can do is grit his teeth and clutch at the sheets, waiting until it passes. Often times, he tries to find a distraction. Mostly he finds himself staring at his wife, asleep on the too-small couch against the wall of his room. 

 

Tonight is no different. He looks at her, thinking about how much she’s been working to make sure everything is figured out. It kills him that he can’t do anything. It’s not by choice, he knows that, but it still pains him that he’s so powerless in this situation. Being powerless makes him feel useless, and when he feels useless, his mind wanders to places it shouldn’t go. He starts wishing that he died instead of that busdriver.  _ He’s _ the one that caused the crash in the first place, so he should be the one that died, not the man whose death was only caused because he tried so hard to avoid hitting the dumbass motorcyclist who ran the red light…

 

Zen forces himself to keep looking at her, to imagine her breaking down at the news of his death, and the self-destructive thoughts fade. She needs him still. He has to be strong. But, God, she’s so much stronger than him. Lately she’s been working tirelessly: answering calls, talking to doctors, keeping him company and making sure he’s alright--

 

What did he do to deserve her? It’s a question Zen’s been asking himself ever since she became his wife, and he still doesn’t know the answer. He’s a fucking travesty. A failure. Too reckless for his own good. Too hot-headed. He remembers the fight they had before he’d gone and ruined both their lives. One of his hands moves to run shakily through his hair. Maybe he isn’t good enough to be a father. Maybe...it’s a good thing that _____ doesn’t want children. If he’s irresponsible enough--  _ heartless _ , as the media’s been saying --to cause the accident, then he shouldn’t have kids.

 

He bites his lip, thoughts moving elsewhere. Sex will be harder now, he realizes. Even something as simple as being intimate with the woman he loves most, he has to re-learn. He’ll have to balance himself, learn to work around his missing limb. It will take a while before they both become accustomed to it, before they can be completely one being again. The accident has driven a wedge between them, he can feel it. She still looks at him with love, yes, but there’s also pity there, and regret. Their hearts feel more distant now, and he hates it. He hasn’t felt the warmth of her body beside him in so long, it seems. 

 

As much as he wishes for her to be close to him, at the same time, it feels like he doesn’t deserve to touch her like he used to. He made her lose her job, that role she had been so excited for...she worked for weeks, long and hard, trying to get the character right and in the moment when everything went wrong, she chose him. Over her career. Running out on a role like that would not be taken lightly in the industry. Zen knows that far too well, he’s been in this game a long time. It will be harder for her to find another role now. All because of him.

 

He won’t bring up having kids again, he decides, not for a while. He’s lost the privilege to ask any more of her. Apart from that, there’s too much going on with him right now. His life’s a trainwreck. Zen gulps down the threat of tears that starts in his throat, scolding himself.

 

_ Suck it up, _ he tells himself,  _ you’ve been crying too much. _

 

_ But it hurts, _ a small voice within him answers.  _ It all hurts so much… _

 

It feels like there’s shards of glass in his chest, like his fragile heart’s been shattered one too many times and now it can’t be fixed, no matter how hard everyone tries. He’s so broken...but he’s been wallowing too much, hasn’t he?

 

“It’s healthy to be upset. To mourn,” the doctor had said. “These emotions happen with the loss of a limb, it’s a life-changing event.”

 

It’s okay to mourn...but he doesn’t want to mourn for himself. He deserves this. His eyes move to the window, to the pale beams of moonlight filtering in through the off-white curtains. He won’t allow himself to mourn his own losses anymore. So he mourns for others. He mourns for the life the bus driver could have had. He mourns for his poor wife. He imagines _____ crying like that, pregnant and scared without him, and it rips a hole in him. He mourns for her, too-- that she has to deal with all this shit he’s put her through. He mourns her dreams that, like his, have to be put on hold so that she can be here for him.

 

He reaches for his leg and runs his palm over the stump lightly, feeling the bandages, and the subtle bump of the stitches underneath. His eyes close. Can he mourn for himself?  _ Should _ he? After everything that’s happened…?

 

He’s so incredibly alone. The feeling chills him like a gust of winter wind. Even though his wife is right there across the room, he feels so terribly isolated. It’s enough to bring the familiar prickling sensation of tears to his eyes almost immediately. His throat grows tight and a small whimper escapes him, against his wishes. It opens the floodgates, but he doesn’t care. It hurts too much to care right now. He allows himself to break down.

 

His hands shake as they grip the sheets tightly, gathering them at his mouth to muffle his choked sobs. He tries to be quiet, but the longer he cries, the less aware he becomes of his volume. At one point or another, the pain takes over, and he loses the ability to quiet himself.

 

When he hears the creaking of the couch, Zen knows he’s woken her. He forces himself to look over at her, vision blurred by tears. She’s sitting up, then standing. He blinks, vision clearing just long enough to see her tired eyes and her concerned frown as she makes her way over to him.

 

“Zen...babe, what’s wrong…?” she asks, voice soft and gentle.

 

He swallows hard, attempting to clear his throat. His voice is cracked and thick with pain.

 

“Please...please just...can you lay with m-me…?” He hates how needy he sounds, how fucking  _ pathetic _ , like a child after a nightmare. “Just until I c-can fall asleep… _ please _ …”

 

Her brows knit together in a worried line, gaze flickering for just a moment to his leg. “Does it hurt…?”

 

He hates that she assumes it’s his leg. He hates how everyone assumes that. What if he’s what’s hurting? What if it’s his heart that hurts?

 

“Yes,” he answers, not bothering to tell her where he’s hurting. His leg  _ does _ hurt-- so does his other leg, and his head’s aching a little bit from all the crying, but where the pain is worst is his chest. There’s a hollowness there. A gaping hole so wide that it’s tearing the rest of him to bits. The only time that pain fades, if only a little, is when she’s near him. Maybe if she does this, he’ll be able to sleep tonight.

 

Without another word, she climbs into the bed beside him, cuddling up to his side. She’s squished against him in this small hospital bed, head resting in the crook of his neck. He cradles her back with his left arm, hand resting at the gentle curve of her waist. His other hand is in hers, resting on his chest. Her thumb makes small, soothing strokes, running along the veins of his hand, over his knuckles, and back. 

 

She’s quelling his pain; the warmth of her body so close to his comforting him more than he has been in a while. His breathing calms down, slowly becoming less shaky, more rhythmic. The room dims, then darkens completely as his eyelids finally close. He can feel his muscles relaxing. The throbbing in his leg seems more tolerable.

 

No matter how bad things get, she’ll be here for him, right by his side. Supporting him. Comforting him. Zen knows it beyond the shadow of a doubt, he can feel it in the gentle strokes of her thumb, in the way she’s pressing against him, like he’s her lifeline, too. She loves him, and he loves her. So much so that sometimes he forgets how much he hates himself.

 

It’s that love that grips him now, lulling him slowly to sleep. It keeps him grounded, chases the nightmares away.

 

Zen sleeps soundly for the first time since the accident.


	7. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really think I'm getting into the groove of writing these :) Enjoy!

She remembers the last time she went job hunting. It had been fun, challenging. She wasn’t worried about getting the roles-- if she got them, it was something to celebrate, but if she didn’t, there was no sweat, no panic. Another job would come along and, until then, Zen made enough to keep them going for a little while longer. She had time.

 

Now, she has no time. Now, it’s a race to get something, anything, just to make sure when all of this is over, they’ll have enough money to pay the hospital bills and keep up with other payments. If she doesn’t find something soon...she doesn’t want to think about it.

 

A week ago, she tried out for some small roles, and today, she went back to see what they thought, if they thought she was good enough or not and if they were willing to deal with her complicated situation. She was nervous, terribly so, but not just because of auditions. 

 

This is the first time she’s been away from Zen for such a long period of time. Mostly, if she was away from him at all, she’d just be down the hall or at the food court, getting herself something to eat. If she did leave the building, it would only be for an hour or so, nothing more. She looks at her watch. It’s been seven hours now since she left the hospital.

 

Now she’s waiting in the small hallway outside of Jihoo’s office at the agency, in an uncomfortable chair that’s had one too many hopefuls sit on it; now it creaks at any little movement, and she can’t seem to sit still. Her mind’s racing with the outcomes of the meetings she went to today, the director’s voices assaulting her senses.

 

_ “Look, I understand your situation is difficult, Mrs. Hyun but...with a production like this, even though it’s smaller than you’re used to, I still need someone who will be available. In your current situation, I just don’t think that’s possible. I’m sorry.” _

 

_ “I have to say, I’m a little underwhelmed with the audition you did. With your portfolio, I was expecting a wow-factor that I just didn’t get. I understand you’re in a difficult spot, but if you want the job, you’ll have to try harder.” _

 

_ “You didn’t get the role. I’m sorry. I can refer you to someone you’ll have better luck with, though, if that helps.” _

 

_ “You can’t come in for daily rehearsals? I’m not sure you’ll find any job with those kind of expectations.” _

 

_ “Even in something as small as a commercial like this, we still need you to be more open to scheduling, which you’re obviously not able to do. Sorry.” _

 

Most of the rest said the same things. They needed her to be available, something she just couldn’t be, not right now, not when Zen was still recovering. Her acting wasn’t all that great either. Her mind was too preoccupied to be able to pretend to be someone else, even for a little while. It’s too much, too hard, but she has to find  _ something _ .

 

The door to Jihoo’s office opens up and her head shoots up to look at him. The anxiety must be written all over her face because the moment she meets his eyes, his eyebrows furrow and the edges of his mouth curve downward in a small frown.

 

“Come in,” he says quietly, holding the door open.

 

She nods and stands, moving past him like a zombie, telling herself she needs to be

professional. He’s her agent, not her psychiatrist. Breaking down in front of him would just be in bad taste. With a shaky sigh, she sits herself down in one of the chairs opposite his desk, folding her hands in her lap. One of her fingers brushes her wedding ring and the metal is cold against her skin. Her heart aches, mind returning to Zen. She wonders if he’s doing okay.

 

The door closes and Jihoo makes his way to his desk, easing himself down into his chair, expression serious, yet concerned.

 

“I’m assuming...today didn’t go so well…?” He guesses, voice gentle.

 

“No. It didn’t. They all turned me down.” Her voice is flat. She looks down at her hands, not wanting to see his disappointment.

 

He sighs. “Okay. I’ll find some more for you, don’t worry. We’ll find you something.”

 

“...do you think we’ll actually find something, though? Everyone I talk with says the same thing. I’m too unavailable.”

 

“There’s bound to be someone. You can’t just give up.” He’s quiet for a moment. “______. Hey, look at me.”

 

She forces herself to look at him, teeth worrying her lower lip.

 

“Are you doing okay? I mean, really, talk to me here.” His expression and tone are sincere.

 

“I...I’m…” she debates for a moment, averts her eyes. “I shouldn’t burden you with all of this.”

 

“Burden me?” He sounds slightly taken aback. “I may be your agent, but I’m also your friend. You can talk to me.”

 

It’s true. Jihoo is like a brother to her, and Zen feels the same way. He’s been there for them for years now, and if there’s something she’s too nervous to talk to Zen about, she’ll ask Jihoo how to go about it. Maybe that’s what she needs right now. Someone to talk to about everything she wants to say to Zen but can’t find the words to.

 

“Okay, well I...remember that talk we had a few months ago? About my...inability to have children?” She starts, hesitant.

 

“Yes, I do. Why? Is Zen still handling it badly?”

 

“That’s just it...I--” she gulps, ashamed. “I haven’t told him yet.”

 

Jihoo is silent. She glances up at him to assess the damage. He looks shocked, eyes wide behind the glint of his glasses. “You haven’t...hold on, I’m confused. I thought that the day you had the fight…”

 

“You thought it was about that?”

 

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, composing himself. “Yes. Was it not?”

 

“It was...and it wasn’t. The day of the fight, I told him I just didn’t want to have kids anymore.”

 

“That had to have been a shock to him.”

 

“He was upset.  _ Very _ upset and...well, you know what all happened next.” She runs a hand through her hair, feeling the stress of everything bubbling up inside her again.

 

“So what you’re saying is, you still haven’t told him?”

 

“I haven’t found the words to. The day of the accident--  _ before _ the accident, after we fought --I called him and left a message. I said that I’d tell him the truth, and I was planning to, but then everything happened and I... _ God _ , Jihoo. How am I supposed to tell him I can’t have children right now? After all the shit he’s already had to go through? It’s just one more disappointment. I don’t think he can handle it at this point.”

 

“I can understand your hesitance. There’s no gentle way of telling him.”

 

“Exactly. There isn’t.”

 

The room is pregnant with silence. She can hear the tabletop clock on Jihoo’s desk ticking away the seconds. There’s creaking in the hallway outside of the door. It feels like an eternity has passed before he speaks again.

 

“If you want my advice, I would say to wait until he brings it up again. That way...it’s on his terms, and he’ll feel more comfortable.”

 

It’s not a bad plan, but she can’t help but think of the flaws in it. “What if he doesn’t bring it up again?”

 

“Then...I’d say wait until most of the process of him healing is over. Let him get through all this first.”

 

“Okay. I guess that’s the best plan I’m going to get.” She sighs, still stressed out, but a little less so. “Thank you, Jihoo.”

 

“Anytime. Now, back to your job situation...there are still a few people I have yet to contact about roles for you, so I’ll call them and ask around. Until then, just hang in there, okay?” He offers her a small smile.

 

“Alright.” She stands, heart a little less heavy, but heavy nonetheless.

 

“Take care.”

 

“You too.”

 

The moment she leaves his office, her phone rings. She fumbles for it in her purse, mind immediately going into a panic. What if it’s Zen calling? What if he needs her? Is something wrong? She answers it without looking at the caller ID.

 

“Zen?” She asks, breathless.

 

“Uhm...it’s Yoosung.” The soft, boyish voice comes through the other line sounding confused, and a little upset.

 

“Yoosung?” Her heart calms down a little. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t look at my phone before I picked it up. Is...is something up?”

 

“Is something up? Of course something’s up. We’ve all been trying to contact you and Zen and no one’s been answering.” His voice is disheartened. It’s true. You’ve both been avoiding calls.

 

“We’ve been fairly busy lately...I’m sorry, Yoosung.”

 

“I get that you’re busy, but...I can’t help but feel like you’re ignoring us on purpose.”

 

He’s got a point. They  _ are _ ignoring them. Zen is at least, and if he doesn’t want anything to do with them, she can’t either. They’d ask too many questions. Demand too much from her that she wouldn’t have the strength to give.

 

She lies, making her tone as convincing as she can. “We’re not. I promise.”

 

There’s a small, shaky sigh, and when Yoosung speaks again his voice is strained. “You know...for an actress, you...you’re really no good at lying.”

 

Her heart skips a beat. Was she really that obvious? The directors were right, her acting skills have been diminishing lately. More than that, he’s right. She’s always been a terrible liar. Especially when it’s lying to people she cares about.

 

“What are you...I’m not lying, Yoosung.” She tries, voice barely level.

 

“You picked up the ph-phone so quickly because you thought I was Zen. Tell me the truth, _____. If you had looked and saw it was m-me...would you have picked up…?”

 

He’s crying, she can hear it. Had their absences really taken this much of a toll on him? On the others? There’s a horrible guilt growing in her stomach, gnawing at her insides.

 

“I...It’s complicated.”

 

“Complicated…?” There’s a different tone in Yoosung’s voice now. He sounds almost angry. “How is it complicated? Don’t you care that I miss you guys? That I’m worried? That  _ we’re _ worried?”

 

“Of course I care, it’s just--”

 

“Just what? This isn’t just hard for you, _____. It’s hard for me too, and Jaehee...and Seven. Even Jumin’s worried and all you do is ignore us! Can’t you just--”

 

He stops talking mid-sentence. She hears him gulp and take a shaky breath.

 

“Can’t you just...let me come see him? I’m free tonight.” He sounds defeated.

 

Her heart sinks. Even after everything he’s said, even though she wants so badly to tell him yes, she knows she can’t. Zen’s not ready to face them yet. “I don’t think it’s a good time for visiting...he’s still recovering and he needs some space.”

 

He’s silent for a few moments, most likely trying to compose himself. “Could I...at least talk on the phone with him? That’s not too much to ask, right? You could just give him your phone and...and it would work.”

This is too much. She closes her eyes, willing herself not to cry. “I’m actually...not with Zen right now, I’m sorry...I know this is difficult for all of you, not being able to visit. I’ll ask him about calling you when I get back to the hospital, okay?”

 

The hospital. She should be going back, she’s been away for too long.

 

He lets out a long, shaky sigh. It doesn’t seem like he has the strength to argue anymore. “Okay...please take care of him, _____.”

 

“I will, don’t worry. I should be going now, so I can get back to him.”

 

“Yeah. You should...okay, then. I’ll talk to you later, I hope. Just please...please let him know how worried we all are. We miss you guys. It’s been…really lonely without you.”

 

She bites her lip, trying not to feel even more guilty than she already does. “I know. Things will get better, though. You’ll see.”

 

She doesn’t believe her own words, but she hopes he does.

 

“I hope so...and I’ll keep hoping. Then...they really will get better.” He sighs again. “See you.”

 

“Bye.” The word is so final on her tongue. She wonders how long it will be before Zen actually starts reaching out to them. She’s not even sure if she will ask him later about calling Yoosung. It’ll probably just make him feel bad.

 

She sighs, starting to walk down the hallway towards the exit. A man smiles at her strangely before brushing past her. It’s odd, but she forgets about the encounter quickly, too worried about Zen to care. When she leaves him alone like this, she gets anxious. Lately, he’s been so down that she’s afraid he might do something rash. She just wants him to feel better.

 

_ Please _ , she pleads to no one in particular.  _ Just let things get better. _


	8. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Just as a heads up, this chapter gets a little bit nsfw, but I kept it not too explicit (aka Teen-rating) as much as I could, since I rated this fic as such. It's also a pretty long chapter than normal haha but I really enjoyed this one. Hope you do too!

Zen can hardly believe it’s been almost a month since the accident. It feels like much longer to him; the strain of waking up every day in a hospital bed, unable to do much for himself besides sit up and eat, has made him feel so useless that he feels exhausted all the time. Years have been taken from his life...at least, that’s how it feels.

 

The doctors tell him that with most other amputees, the process of muscle therapy and meeting with a prosthetist for measuring and casting the residual limb happens soon after the stitches are removed. With him, however, the process will be different.

 

“We can start physical therapy as soon as your stitches are out and your incision has healed. However, since your right leg is also broken and needs to remain in the full cast for a few weeks longer, we can’t move you just yet to start the prosthesis process,” the doctor had said.

 

Great. So even his recovery process is going to be more difficult than most. He isn’t going to complain-- he deserves it. So far, it hasn’t been so bad, though. His stitches came out a few days ago, and the physical therapist had already visited twice. She demonstrated the proper way to exercise his leg muscles and how to massage it to loosen up any scar tissue. He’s already tried it a few times on his own. It hurt at first, but sometimes it helps it stop aching so much. Overall, things seem to be looking up, if only a little. Zen’s optimistic, for once.

 

There’s just one thing that’s still bothering him, something that keeps him up at night. His closeness to his wife has been compromised. Not just physically, but emotionally. Between all the appointments, meetings with the doctors, questions about his well-being, and job-searching, his wife’s been too busy to really spend time with him. Of course, she’s always there for him when she can be, but it’s mostly just her worrying about his leg, or how well he’s eating. No deep conversations, no joking around or teasing...no heartfelt talks about how much they love each other. He misses those things. Especially tonight.

 

She’s talking to him about his health again; her daily worrying session. He zones out, eyes wandering to the circular clock on the wall. In the dim light, he can just make out where the hands are pointing. Zen frowns. It’s almost midnight. He’s exhausted, but not because he needs to sleep. Really, he’s just tired of everyone talking about his leg. Asking about it. Looking at him sadly because they pity him. If it was just the doctors doing those things, he could deal with it, but it’s also _____. He doesn’t blame her; she probably doesn’t realize she’s doing it, but it still hurts him. Does she even see him anymore? When she looks at him does she see the man she married? Or does she only see his injury and the tragedy he’s become?

 

“Zen? Is everything okay?” She’s raised her voice slightly louder than her previous soft tone, obviously concerned.

 

He drags his eyes from the clock, back to her face, and tries to push down the pain in his chest when he finally looks at her again. “Hm…? Oh. Yeah, everything’s fine.”

 

“Okay, good. Did you hear what I said?”

 

“No,” he admits, hoping she doesn’t take it personally.

 

“I was asking if your leg’s been hurting a lot recently.” She sounds a little exasperated, but it’s probably her own fault for asking the same questions so much.

 

He still obliges, knowing that she’ll only worry more if he refuses to answer. “Kind of, but not as much as usual. The physical therapy is helping.”

 

A small smile graces her lips. It’s been awhile since she’s done that. Smile. His heart thumps painfully in his chest. He wants her to smile more, and he wants to be the reason why. Lately, he’s been the reason why she’s been frowning.

 

“I’m really glad to hear that…” her voice is small again, and she drops her gaze to her hands. She looks so tired. He wonders if it’s his kind of tired, or if she just needs to go to bed.

 

He doesn’t want her to go to bed, though. Not just yet. There’s something he wants to try, mostly just because he misses his wife so damn badly. He wants to be close to her again. Feel her against him, her heartbeat against his chest. The last time she slept beside him was that night weeks ago where he had broken down in front of her. Tonight, he’s stronger than that. Tonight, he wants more than to just sleep.

 

“_____. Can you come over here please…?” He asks, hoping with every bit of optimism he has left that she’ll let him try this.

 

She looks up at him again, puzzled for a moment, then smiles weakly. He assumes she thinks he wants her to sleep beside him again. What will she say when he tells her what he really wants? Part of him is terrified to ask. Terrified his fear that all she sees are his injuries, not him and his hurting soul, will be confirmed. His wife stands up and makes her way over to him, stopping at the side of his bed. She moves to try and climb onto the bed and he holds up a hand, stopping her.

 

“Wait. Actually...I was...I wanted to ask you something.” He struggles to get the words out, heart pounding. This is insane. This is his wife for God’s sake, why is he so scared to ask her what they’ve done so many times before?

 

“Oh. Okay, what is it?” She seems confused, but open to what he wants to say, so he takes it as a sign.

 

“I want to...I want to try and be intimate with you. Is that... would you be okay with that?” The moment he’s done asking, he braces himself for the worst.

 

She’s deadly quiet for a moment, and he’s afraid he’s done something wrong. Then she speaks, voice trembling with emotion. “I...of course, but-- are we allowed to do that? Won’t you get hurt?”

 

His heart calms down a little bit, but he’s not completely satisfied yet with her answer. “I’ll be fine. I’m supposed to be working my muscle, so it will help, if anything. Please? I...I miss you.”

 

Her teeth play with her lower lip for a moment as she mulls it over. Her voice is almost a whisper when she speaks again. “I...God, Hyun, I miss you too...”

 

Hyun. She only calls him that when she’s being affectionate. It lights a warm fire in his chest. He finds himself smiling up at her fondly. “Is that a yes…?”

 

To his delight, she returns the smile, though it’s small. “Yes... but as long as we take it slow. And...promise me that if you start hurting at all, you’ll tell me so we can stop, okay?”

 

“I promise.” He feels like a hormonal highschooler again, about to sleep with the love of his life for the first time. It’s exhilarating, the excitement of it already making it’s way down to his abdomen.

 

“Okay.”

 

She undresses slowly, glancing at him shyly a couple of times as one by one, her garments drop to the floor. He drinks her body in like man dying of thirst, his need for her almost unbearable. Zen barely suppresses a groan when she finally straddles him, careful of his cast and left leg. He can tell she’s holding most of her body weight up, rather than let it rest on his upper thighs. Her hands ghost over his hips, lightly tugging up his hospital gown just enough.

 

“W-wait...let me...I want to kiss you first.” He breathes, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes. The room used to be cold but now it feels so  _ hot _ .

 

She smiles softly, a  _ real _ smile, and lowers herself to press her lips against his, placing one hand beside his head on the pillow, the other on his cheek. Each kiss is gentle, lingering,  _ loving. _ It’s been so long since he’s felt this way with her. His injuries and their arguments seem so far away now.

 

He moves his hands to cup her cheeks, drawing out his kisses, wanting to savor this moment. She lets out a small, contented sigh against his lips and pulls away just enough to meet his eyes. Zen feels like he’s lost in them-- he can  _ see _ the love there, and it fills him with joy. His hands leave her cheeks and trail down to lightly caress her breasts. Her eyes flutter shut, teeth biting her lower lip. He massages them gently, wanting to worship her body as much as he can in the time he has.

 

“Hyun…” she whispers. When he glances up at her, she’s peering at him through half-lidded eyes. “I love you…”

 

He smiles wider than he has in a while. “I love you too.”

 

Their lovemaking is gentle and slow. He knows it’s because she’s being careful, but he can’t help but feel there’s another reason; it’s been so long since they’ve taken the time to touch each other like this. Zen wants to believe she’s missed this intimacy as much as he has. She said as much, but there’s a part of him-- that insecure, conniving voice in him --that tells him she’s just saying those things.

 

He loses himself in her. For a brief time, he forgets all the shit that’s been dragging him down, tearing him up. He forgets the media, the anxiety...the doubts about his future. All that exists to him is her, and the emotions she’s making him feel. It’s all soft sighs and lingering fingertips. He keeps saying her name, softly, repeating it like a mantra between kisses. It’s almost too good, and he can’t believe that it’s going as well as it is--

 

Then, inevitably, the pain comes. It starts as a dull ache in his left thigh, right above his stump. The discomfort in his right leg soon follows; all his movement is making the inside of the cast sweaty and hot. He’s exerting himself too much, he knows. When they started this, he told himself he’d try not to participate as much as he normally does, but he couldn’t help but get lost in the moment. Now all he’s done is make the time they had to be together like this again shorter. Stubborn, he keeps going, not saying anything to _____.

 

The pain gradually gets worse until his thigh is practically burning, muscles aching from overuse. It’s hard for him to keep going. He bites his lip, hard, cursing his body. This used to be so easy for him. Now, something as little as what would be considered a small workout leaves him panting and in pain. The aggravation and disappointment are so strong within him that he can feel his throat tightening. Tears slip unwanted down his cheeks. His pants turn into small, shaky gasps.

 

“____…I’m...we need to stop…” He whispers, trying to keep his voice steady.

 

She opens her eyes a looks down at him, eyes immediately widening with worry.  “Oh God...did I hurt you?”

 

“N-No, no...you didn’t I’m just…” A shaky sigh leaves him and he turns his gaze away from her, upset with himself. “My muscles are just tired. I haven’t exercised in a while.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” She sounds relieved, but he hears something else in her tone that makes his heart sink. It’s small, but there. Disappointment.

 

“I mean...we can try again soon. After I exercise my leg a little more…” He trails off, thinking. “Maybe I could try doing situps in bed or something to exercise my upper body…”

 

She lets out a soft half-puff of air that could have been a laugh. It sounds almost affectionate, catching Zen off guard. He turns his gaze back to her, raising an eyebrow.

 

“What?” He asks.

 

“Nothing, just...it’s nice to see you like this. Like your old self, I mean.”

 

“Oh.” He’s not sure of how he should feel.

 

“I’m...I only mean that it’s nice to see you being optimistic again. And it’s...nice to see you smile again. I missed that.”

 

He smiles. “Oh. Yeah, it’s nice to be smiling again.”

 

She returns his smile and leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead before moving to get off of him. His smile melts into a slight frown.

 

“Wait...could we lay here for a little longer like this…?” His tone is timid, pleading. “I don’t want this to stop so soon. Maybe we can just cuddle and talk?”

 

She’s quiet for a moment. “Sure. Should I lay beside you?”

 

“No,” he answers, surprised at how quickly his mouth spoke before he even had time to think. “Lay on top of me. Please.”

 

Her expression is worried for a moment, like she thinks laying on him just might break him. His ribs are pretty much healed, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Plus, he hasn’t felt pain in them for the past week. It should be okay. For a second, Zen thinks she’ll refuse or try to argue, but she only sighs softly and slowly eases her body down on top of him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. He smiles again and wraps his arms around her, grateful for the closeness. One of his hands moves up to stroke her hair, enjoying the feeling of it between his fingers.

 

They lay like that for a while. She reaches one of her hands to play with his hair, too, and he closes his eyes, feeling a great peace envelop him. But...there’s something on his mind still, something that creeped into his mind earlier during their intimacy. It works its way through his peace, tempting him, begging him to bring it up, to ask. He needs to, he  _ has _ to know. Especially now, after everything that’s happened.

“____? Can I...ask you something?” He asks tentatively, anxiety building up in his chest.

 

“What is it?” She replies, voice slightly muffled.

 

Zen takes a shaky breath, frankly terrified to ask what he wants to. It’s what started all of this. It’s what made them argue, what made him so careless-- no, that one was his fault. His mistake. Regardless, it’s a question he’s scared to voice, but it’s killing him not knowing. So, he makes the jump.

 

“Did you...did you have a reason for not wanting kids…? Please don’t get mad at me for asking again, it’s just...I have to know. Even if you say the same thing again, it’ll be enough this time, I promise I just need to hear it one last time.” He gulps, wondering if he was too forward. “Then I can bury the idea for good.”

 

Her breath catches in her throat and for a moment, she stops breathing. She’s so quiet. So very quiet. Then, she inhales slowly before letting out a long, shaky sigh.

 

“Zen, there’s...something I need to tell you,” she starts, sounding grim.

 

His heart thuds nervously and suddenly, he’s even more scared than he was before. Does she not want him anymore? Does she think he’s not a good enough to be a father? Is there someone else? A million questions buzz around in his head, but none of them make him happy. There’s no good answer to this, he realizes. The way she said it, something bad is coming. He braces himself.

 

“What is it…?” He tries to keep his tone steady, but his voice shakes a little, betraying his fear.

 

“Well, I...when we decided to take a break from trying because we were having bad luck, I got...kind of worried.”

 

“Worried? What do you mean…?” His fear’s only getting worse.

 

“I mean I got paranoid that maybe our ‘bad luck’ wasn’t just bad luck...so I went to see a doctor. And I…” She sighs heavily, sounding distressed. “There’s no easy way for me to say this…”

 

_ Fuck _ , he thinks, mind immediately jumping to the worse possible conclusions. Did the doctor do a scan and find out she had cancer? He’s always been terrified of that possibility. An actor buddy of his lost his wife to cancer a year back, and it’s been in the back of his mind ever since.  _ Please, anything but that. _

 

“I can’t have kids, Zen.” She finally says, voice wavering. “I’m infertile.”

 

Of all things, he never considered that. It’s shocking. He lies there, eyes wide, unspeaking, waiting for it to sink in.

 

“I’m so sorry I lied to you. The truth is, I want kids. I w-want them so bad, but...I can’t have them and I felt so  _ horrible _ about it that I-- I just couldn’t tell you, Zen. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” She’s shaking. A small sob leaves her. “I’m so sorry…”

 

He finds himself rubbing her back, finds himself speaking before he’s had time to process this bombshell. “Hey, _____. It’s okay, please don’t...don’t do this to yourself…”

 

It  _ is _ okay, he’s amazed to realize. He feels oddly relieved. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t the reason why she didn’t want kids. She’s not sick, she doesn’t have cancer, she still wants kids. She still loves him. It’s almost calming to him, knowing the truth, but it also hurts him. He pressured her for an answer. Over and over, all while she was struggling to tell him. She probably blamed herself, he realizes. It’s probably why she blames herself for his accident. Then there’s also the devastation of knowing that he’ll never have a kid with her. Adoption is always an option, and he’d love to adopt, of course, but...knowing that they could never produce a child together that would have her eyes and smile or his hair-- that could never be fully  _ theirs _ \--crushes him. It hurts, but not as much as he imagines it’s hurting her.

 

“Are you...okay?” He’s more concerned about how she’s handling it, even though he knows he’ll fully come to terms with this news soon and, when he does, it’ll be just another nail in his coffin. There’s been too much bad news lately, too much pain.  _ Push through. For her. _

 

“I’m...coping. I actually haven’t been able to think about it much, since I’ve been focusing on helping you. So it hasn’t been too bad, b-but...it still hurts.” She admits.

 

He’s worrying her. Of course. Isn’t he always? The room grows quiet, nothing but the sound of their mixed breathing. Zen’s soft and even, _____’s shaky and irregular. They’re quiet for a long time. His eyes find the clock again. It’s past one in the morning. His head hurts.

 

“Can you stay with me tonight?” He asks gently.

 

She sniffles. “Yes. I’ll get dressed…”

 

Slowly, she picks herself up off of him, eyes avoiding making contact with his gaze. Small trails of tears stain her cheeks. The moonlight from the windows hits the curve of her body and he can’t help but think that she looks like a painting. Beautiful and tragic. 

 

She gets dressed, back facing him. How much weight is she carrying on that back? How much worry and sadness? It rips him apart just thinking about it. He wishes he could help somehow, but how can he in the state he’s in? He’ll try harder, he vows; he’ll try and find any way he can to help her. To make her see how much he appreciates her.

 

When she finally squeezes onto the bed beside him, he holds her close, kissing her head and rubbing her back until her breathing slows and he knows she’s asleep.

 

“Whatever may come, I will be here with you.” He whispers. “I promise.”


	9. Gossip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! I may be slower at updating from here on out, since I haven't really planned out the plot past a certain point. I know in general what's going to happen, but the writing of it and in what order will be the hard part. Thank you guys so much for waiting patiently and leaving comments! I really appreciate it :)) Enjoy!

The night she was intimate with Zen again, ______ felt like things were finally going to start looking up. They did, for a week or so, but then, inevitably, the press found a way to wrap their grubby fingers around their lives again. Somehow, they found out about her being infertile and-- for some terrible reason --it turned them against her husband even more.

 

It absolutely blew up. Every celebrity news station in the area was broadcasting the story, each one making ludicrous comments and assumptions about her and Zen’s personal life, and about Zen himself. Fabricated lies, snide remarks...every one of them stabs at them like spears, easing them towards a sheer cliff.

 

They say the crash is an even bigger scandal now, since Zen killed that busdriver, a soon-to-be father. Did he do it on purpose because he was angry that he couldn’t have any kids? It makes no sense, and it’s honestly laughable, but no one bothers to speak up. If they do, the newscasters don’t listen. Regardless, he was still inconsiderate of other families that could have been on the road. Regardless, he’s still a selfish monster. They even went far enough as to say that maybe ______’s infertility is a good thing, since someone as reckless as Zen shouldn’t be a father. It was a statement that left her gaping at the TV, horrified that anyone would ever say something like that. It tore her up. It tore him up, too.

 

She has no idea how they found out. Jihoo was the only one she told other than Zen about it, but there was always the small chance that a passing hospital worker or someone standing near her while she was on the phone could have heard and passed it onto the press. Their secrets are worth big money now, she’s sure. Whoever did this to them was sitting on a hefty pile of cash while she and her husband sat hauled up in the hospital room, ignoring the yells outside from angry ex-fans and reporters. It’s died down a bit over the past couple of days, but the stress of the whole situation is still there, hanging heavy over their heads, threatening to crush them. 

 

Zen asked to be alone again today. Ever since the story broke, he’s been brooding more than usual, taking the whole thing to heart. This time, though his sadness is also rife with anger, since the media’s brought her into this now, too.

 

“I don’t care if they tear me down, believe me, I’m used to this shit by now, but...the fact that they’re dragging you down with me too is just-- I can’t fucking  _ stand _ it.” He had said, slamming his fist down with a soft thud on the thin hospital mattress. “Damnit, I...I need to be alone right now, ______. I’m sorry.”

 

So she gave him a quick kiss on the head and left him to his thoughts, only to walk off to be inside her own mind prison. She goes over her past conversations meticulously in her head, trying to figure out where she slipped up, where the media must have found out. It’s maddening, not knowing. The worst of it is that if she can’t find out how it happened...the only one who could have possibly told them was Jihoo, which she can’t bring herself to believe. He would never, not in a million years. It doesn’t add up, especially considering how livid he had been the day the news broke. He tore through the agency like a vicious tornado, demanding to speak to any of his superiors that may have seen his papers or listened in on a phone call.

 

Everything’s a mess, again.

 

_ Will it ever stop being a mess _ ? She wonders. Her phone rings.

 

At first, she’s keen to ignore it. Her phone’s been blowing up nonstop for the past week, most of the calls from reporters trying to get a story, other calls from the concerned members of the RFA, which she also ignored. Which will it be this time? Exasperated, she looks at the phone screen anyway, curiosity getting the better of her.

 

Cho-Rim’s name greets her from the dimly lit screen of her phone. Her eyes widen slightly in surprise, not expecting it to have been him. She hasn’t heard from him in a month or more, not since he had visited them with flowers. Hesitantly, she answers the phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

“_____! I’m so glad you answered, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a while, it’s been crazy around here. I’ve been hearing so many things and I just-- I have no idea what to think, but I know a lot of this stuff can’t be true!” Cho-Rim replies, immediately launching into speech mode. He does this when he’s upset about something, _____ remembers. She wishes he wouldn’t bring it up.

 

“Oh. Yes, um...a lot of it isn’t true, but...the main part is true. About me being--”

 

“Don’t say it, I know. You don’t have to repeat it, it’s stupid that they’re blowing it up like this. It’s-- it’s pissing me off! They have no right to say stuff like that about you two when they don’t even know you! And to imply some of the things they are, it’s just downright monstrous!"

 

He’s angry.  _ Really _ angry. It strikes her because she knows this man is often too easy-going to get this mad. In fact, she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him be this aggravated before. It’s hard to know how to respond.

 

“I...I know, it’s horrible.” She finally says.

 

“Yeah, it is…” He sighs, calming down slightly. “How are you two holding up?”

 

“Well, it’s...I guess we’re okay. Besides all the gossip, I mean. Zen’s healing well. He’ll be able to get fitted for his prosthetic soon.”

 

“Really? That’s good, I’m glad to hear that.” He sounds more like himself now. Positive. It makes her smile slightly.

 

“How are things going on your end?” She asks, genuinely curious, hoping that he’s been having better luck than her.

 

“Oh, uh...it’s been going pretty well, actually. I’ve been going to a lot of rehearsals and I’d like to think my acting’s getting better.” He pauses. “I’ve actually gotten a few more productions I’m going to be in, but they’re still in the works…”

 

He drifts off, and the line grows quiet for a moment.

 

“They’re...still looking for your replacement, you know. The director’s really having a hard time finding someone right for the role.”

 

Her heart drops to her stomach. She remembers how hard Jihoo tried to get the director to take her back, but he wouldn’t have it. He was fed up with her enough as it was, with her running out and everything. Her silence must hint at her disappointment, because when Cho-Rim speaks again, he sounds upset.

 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just...not right that he’s doing this to you. He hired you because you were perfect for the role. He should have kept you on, no matter the circumstances. It’s not like you knew any of this was going to happen.”

 

“Yeah...I know.” It’s all she can think to say. She’s sinking into that awful trench in her mind. The one where she tells herself she’s not good enough to hold up even a small acting job. Not good enough to support Zen.

 

Another long silence. Cho-Rim breaks it, tone serious.

 

“Look, so I...I called because I wanted to say I’ve been thinking about a way to help you guys out and I think I came up with something.”

 

Help them out? How could he possibly do that?

 

“There’s no need, Cho-Rim, really. You’re helping enough with just being concerned about us. It means a lot.” She finally says.

 

“No, this is something I have to do. I’ve made up my mind.” He sounds resigned and she knows that, whatever this  _ thing _ is that he’s decided to do, he won’t back down now.

 

“You really don’t need to. We barely know one another, and we’ve never done anything to help you out--”

 

“That’s not true.” His tone is defensive. It fades into one of sincerity as he continues to speak. “Look, Zen is...he’s part of the reason I tried out for that big role in that production we were in together. He inspired me. He’s-- kind of my role model for acting, and I’d feel ashamed if I didn’t at least  _ try _ to do something to help right now. It’d tear me up.”

 

She’s speechless.  _ That’s why he was so interested in meeting Zen...and so concerned when he heard about his injuries. _ It makes perfect sense now.

 

“I know what I have to do,” he says, “and I won’t regret doing it.”

 

It sounds cryptic. Like the last words of an innocent man before he’s sent to the gallows. She doesn’t like it, not at all. Something doesn’t feel right.

 

“What do you mean…?” She asks, desperately hoping he’ll give her an answer. “What are you going to do?”

 

“You’ll see. It’ll be okay somehow, I promise.” He’s being vague, and she knows there’s no way he’s going to tell her. “Just trust me on this.”

 

“Wait, Cho-Rim, I--”

 

“It’ll be okay.” He repeats before hanging up.

 

She’s left standing alone in the waiting room, the monotone beep of the disconnect tone droning on in her ear. Slowly, she brings the phone down to look at it, staring at Cho-Rim’s contact photo, the words ‘Call Ended’ flashing underneath his name. There’s a bad feeling in her stomach.

 

It scares her, how serious he sounded, and she doesn’t even know what he’s planning. The whole thing sounded too ominous. She hopes he doesn’t do anything drastic. Taking a deep breath, she slides her phone into her pocket, trying to banish the conversation from her brain. 

 

_ Zen must be getting hungry _ , she thinks, turning to make her way towards hospital’s food area. He’ll be tired when she returns-- he always is. The least she can do is get him to eat something before he falls asleep.

 

Still, she can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to go horribly wrong.

  
  



	10. Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing this chapter! I feel like the story's really picking up steam now. I also have figured out exactly how I want the rest of the fic to go so that should make my updates more consistent (aiming for weekly! just no set day). Hope you all enjoy this one! :)

It’s only been a couple days since news of his wife’s infertility was broadcast on television and the shock and and anger of it is still tearing Zen apart. Of course, it hurt him to hear that so many people were almost  _ glad _ about the news. Was he really that bad of a person? Would he really have been  _ that _ bad of a father? It haunts him, like it always has. Even before the accident, he had worried about it. His own father wasn’t exactly a shining example, and part of him worried that maybe the myth about sons often becoming like their fathers was true.

 

It ate him up inside for days, but gradually, he began to feel numb. At this point, he’s gone through this song and dance so many times with the media that it almost doesn’t even hurt anymore. He still feels shitty, though. He  _ always _ feels shitty, even if it’s only a little bit.

 

Today the shitty-ness is bearable. Zen sits in his bed, eyes trained on a dumb movie he found accidentally while flipping through the channels. He chews his sandwich in silence, only half-conscious of the tase. He’s had so many of them lately that he’s starting to get sick of them. Not that he can complain. The hospital only has so many options available for lunch. He’s about to take another bite of his food when ______ comes bursting into the room, looking a little frantic.

 

Zen’s eyes widen and he sets his sandwich down, movie forgotten. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Yes, something’s wrong! Shit.” She paces around the room for a moment before stopping. Her cell phone is clutched tightly in her hand, and she glances at it before sighing shakily. “ _ Fuck _ .”

 

“Babe, what’s going on?” He asks, starting to get a little worried.

 

“I just-- I just got a call from Jihoo. Apparently Cho-Rim did something rash, I...he told me he was going to help us somehow, but I didn’t expect  _ this _ .” She runs a hand through her hair, looking close to tears.

 

Zen takes his lunch tray off his lap and sets it on the side table before pushing his body up from his slouched state. He grabs for the remote and shuts the television off before speaking. “What did he do?”

 

“He...He went straight to the director of that production I was on and told him that...that if he didn’t give me my role back, then he’d walk.”

 

Zen’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “He’d  _ what _ ? You’re joking, right?”

 

Something like that is career suicide, Zen knows. He’s seen it happen before. Actors who think they have enough leverage get it in their head that they can make demands. They don’t realize they’re expendable. They don’t realize their careers can be ended with a single bad word from a well-known director. It’s that easy, that quick. 

 

“I’m not joking. It’s true, he went to the director.” She bites her lip, looking at her phone again. “Jihoo told me it’s all over the celebrity news outlets. He was taken out of the production. On top of that, he’s being torn apart by the press for trying to stand up for us. He’s made it known that he’s on our side and they hate him for it.”

 

“Fuck.” Zen mutters under his breath. He feels torn. Of course, he’s grateful that Cho-Rim would do something that risky to try and help his wife get her job back, but he also feels horrible because of how cold he had been towards him before. He never really did like Cho-Rim, and now he’s regretting it.

 

_ Maybe...maybe it’s time to do something good for him now _ , he thinks.

 

There’s the beginnings of an idea in his mind, and it involves doing something he’s been avoiding for months. For a moment, he almost convinces himself not to. It’ll be too annoying, and he  _ really _ doesn’t feel up to it, but...he can’t just let Cho-Rim’s career fall apart. He’s let too much fall apart already. His stomach churns, his lunch beginning to not agree with him.

 

_ Suck it up. Just do it, don’t be a coward. _

 

“_____? Can I borrow your phone?” He asks, keeping his gaze on the wrinkled sheets of his bed.

 

“Oh, um...yeah, you can.” She slowly makes her way to him, holding out her phone.

 

When he finally looks at her, he can tell she wants to ask why, but she says nothing. She

knows not to ask by now, and it hurts him a little because he knows he’s been a little distant lately. Especially to his friends, whom he hasn’t talked to since before the accident. If he’s asking to use the phone, she must know it’s for something he’d rather not talk about. He loves her for understanding, for giving him his space. Someday soon, he’ll open up more. He’ll let her completely in again.

 

“Thank you,” he says, taking the phone from her.

 

She gives him a weak smile and a half-nod before turning to leave the room. When the door closes, he feels sick to his stomach again. His eyes are fixed blankly at the phone’s screen, hands shaking slightly. What he’s about to do is so  _ demeaning _ , so foreign to him, but he has to do it.

 

He scrolls through the contact list, stopping when he sees the name. It stares at him menacingly, and he finds himself having to take a deep breath before he forces himself to finally press the ‘call’ button. He brings the phone to his ear, listening to it ring with bated breath. It stops ringing abruptly.

 

“____? You’re finally calling me back, is there something wrong?” Jumin’s voice is concerned, curious even.

 

Zen grits his teeth. “Jumin, it’s me.”

 

The other line is quiet for a moment. When Jumin speaks again, he sounds surprised, and a little bit confused. “Zen? I have to say you’re the last person I expected a call from.”

 

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t really have a choice, just...listen. I need a favor.”

 

“Do you need my help? I heard of some rumors from the tabloids and Assistant Kang mentioned that in your current job situation, your monetary gain is too small to pay the hospital bills properly.” His tone is cool and calculated, but not unkind. “I would be happy to help, if that’s what you’re asking.”

 

Zen’s stomach twists. This is why he avoided talking to Jumin in the first place. He doesn’t want his help, doesn’t need it. He  _ knows _ their situation is grim, he doesn’t need reminded, and being reminded just pisses him off.

 

“No, I-- listen, you trust fund jerk. This isn’t about me, okay? The favor’s for someone else.”

 

“Someone else?” There’s obvious annoyance in his tone. “You call me of out nowhere, are rude to me as usual, and then expect me to carry out a favor to benefit someone I don’t know?”

 

“Yes. It’s-- he’s in trouble because of me. He needs a job, he’s a fellow actor I know…” Zen sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand nervously, trying to find the words. “Look, I know it’s out of left field and everything, but this guy...he pretty much sabotaged his whole career just to try and help us. And I can’t-- I can’t let someone else throw their life away because of me. I just  _ can’t _ .”

 

Dammit. His voice cracked. Getting emotional in front of Jumin had been the last thing he wanted.

 

“...I’m assuming that for this favor, you want me to find an acting job for this man?” Jumin asks patiently.

 

“Yes. Can you do that? His name is Cho-Rim, I can text you his contact information.”

 

“Mm...alright. Send me his information, and I’ll get to finding him something. I have a few connections that may just work. However, if you want me to do this for you, then you must do something in return.”

 

Zen suppresses a groan. He knows what Jumin’s going to say, but he indulges him anyway, trying not to sound too irked. “What’s that, exactly?”

 

“Promise that you will let the RFA visit you. The others have been worrying about you almost constantly, and I believe it’s about time you let them see you.” He pauses for a moment, then continues. “I may visit as well, if I can find the time.”

 

_ Great. This is fucking peachy. _

 

“I don’t think that’s a fair trade. You’re forcing me to do something that I don’t want to do.” Zen says flatly.

 

“I’m forcing you to do something that you should have done a while ago. Yoosung and Assistant Kang have been struggling due to the fact that they're unable to see you. They need closure, and you’re keeping it from them. I fail to see how  _ that _ is fair.”

 

He’s right. He’s right, and it makes Zen so incredibly angry that his chest feels like it’s burning. His hand balls into a fist so tight that his fingernails bite the inside of his palm. He grips the phone so hard that his wrist starts to shake.

 

“Fine. Fine, I’ll let them visit,” he starts, then quickly adds, “but I get to choose when.”

 

“You will be able to choose when, as long as it’s soon, and I will get to work right away on finding Cho-Rim a job. Does that sound like a fair compromise?”

 

Zen lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah. It does. We have a deal, then?”

 

“It appears we do. I’ll let you know if I find something.”

 

“Okay.” He opens his mouth to say ‘thanks’ but the word sticks in his throat, so he remains silent.

 

Jumin seems unphased. “I expect I’ll be seeing you soon. Tell ____ I said hello.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Take care of yourself.” The words sound foreign coming from Jumin, but at the same time, he sounds sincere.

 

“I will,” Zen repeats.

 

There’s a small pause and then a beep, signaling the end of the call. Zen breathes a sigh of relief, the built up tension in his chest dissipating. It was a call he didn’t want to make, and now he has to face his friends. 

 

_ Soon _ , he thinks,  _ they’re going to see me soon. _ The thought terrifies him, but he knows he’s done the right thing. All that’s left is to wait.


	11. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the delay on this one, I had a little bit of writer's block. However, I'm happy to tell you guys I have the rest of the story planned out now and it's going to be 21 chapters total! :) So we're about halfway through at this point. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

It’s been two weeks since _____ got the call about Cho-Rim. At the time, she was almost frantic. It hadn’t crossed her mind for a second that Zen would contact someone to help, let alone that someone being Jumin. When she came back into the room afterwards, he had shakily handed her cell phone back, lips in a taut line. He hadn’t bothered to take the phone off the call screen. That’s when she saw the name plainly. Zen was shaken up by it, that was certain, but when she looked at him again, there was something else in his expression-- a newfound fire in his eyes.

 

After that, he seemed to be doing a lot better. When they took their first trip to the prosthetist to get him fitted for a cast so they could begin making his prosthetic, he was optimistic. During his muscle therapy sessions, he didn’t get as frustrated or hopeless as he usually did. There were a few times he had even glanced over at her and smiled-- a genuine smile. The kind of smile that made her heart flutter.

 

He’s healing, physically and emotionally, and she’s never been so relieved. There were days before this when she would look at him and see the shell of her husband, eyes devoid of anything but self-loathing and regret. He was paler then, no stranger to late-night breakdowns. Dark circles always adorned the underside of his eyelids. In those days, she thought he’d never be himself again. Now, when he looks at her, the pain is still there, but she can see Zen again.

 

Today, however, he’s regressing. She watches him pick nervously at his lunch, casting anxious glances towards the door every now and again. It’s not a surprise. Today’s the day the others will finally visit.

 

_ “_____?” He starts. _

 

_ “Hm?” _

 

_ “I...I’ve been feeling a lot better this week. All the therapy’s really helping and I feel a lot stronger than usual so, I was thinking…” He drifts off, as if he doesn’t want to say it. “I think it’s time for the RFA to come visit.” _

 

_ She gives him a gentle smile. “Okay. I’ll let them know.” _

 

_ “...you think they’ll want to see me?” _

 

_ “Of course...they’ve been wanting to see you for months, why wouldn’t they want to see you now?” _

 

_ “Because they haven’t seen me for months. No, more like I didn’t let them see me for months...” _

 

_ She frowns slightly. “Zen. Don’t think like that.” _

_ “I can’t help it. I pushed them all away. I even knew I was doing it, but I didn’t care.” He runs his hands through his hair, letting out a long sigh. “What kind of friend am I?” _

 

_ “What kind of friends would they be if they judged you for that? Pushing people away when you’re hurting is a normal thing.” _

 

_ He’s silent for a moment, then closes his eyes. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.” _

 

_ “It will be okay, honey.” She reaches out, takes his hand in hers. “I’ll be here the whole time.” _

 

_ A small smile graces his lips. _

  
  


“Babe...I don’t know if I can do this.” Zen’s voice brings her out of her thoughts. His crimson eyes are worried, watching her.

 

“You  _ can _ do this. They’re just visiting.” She smiles, trying to reassure him. “Just seeing you will make them happy, you don’t have to talk to them much if you don’t want to.”

 

He bites his lip. “I know, but...I’m worried they’ll treat me differently. What if...what if Jaehee doesn’t like me as much anymore? Or Yoosung...what if he thinks I was ignoring him because I don’t like him and now he hates me for it?”

 

“They both love you, Zen. We all love you. Please, just...don’t overthink so much, okay?”

 

“I’ll try not to.”

 

Silence envelops the room. The wall clock ticks incessantly, like a mechanical heartbeat. Zen picks at his food a little bit more before sighing and moving the tray to the bedside table, obviously giving up on trying to eat. Both of them jump slightly as the door bursts open.

 

Yoosung stumbles into the room, wide-eyed and breathless, blond locks sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His face is flushed, bookbag half-slung on his right shoulder. It slides off and thumps to the floor. He immediately looks at Zen, eyes filling with tears.

 

“I… I rushed here as soon as my class ended.” He explains between puffs of air.

 

_____ has to stop herself from frowning. She knows how worried he’s been about Zen, and how desperate he was to see him again. After Seven went missing, Zen was the only close friend Yoosung had. They had become closer, and it even wasn’t uncommon for them to invite him over the house every now and again. She can only imagine how lonely he must have felt in the time Zen had disappeared from his life.

 

Zen looks at Yoosung for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t have to run-- I would have been here regardless.”

 

“I know, I just...I wanted to see you as soon as I could.” He straightens up, pushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes. His expression brightens up. “It’s so great to finally see you again. You look really different with your hair down like that.”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah...I wear it like this now.” Zen manages a small smile. “It’s comfortable.”

 

“It looks good.” He pauses for a moment, looking unsure. “So how are you doing? Is everything going okay with the healing process?”

 

“It’s going pretty well, yeah. I’m a lot better than I was, at least.”

 

“Good...uhm...what about the pain? I learned in some of my classes that animals can get phantom pain after an amputation and it made me worry that you’d probably have that too.”

 

Zen blinks, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Sometimes. It hasn’t been too bad, though, so don’t worry about it.” He fakes a smile.

 

“Okay, that’s great to hear! I’m really happy you’re doing okay.”

 

She knows Yoosung is just making sure he’s okay, but his rapid-fire questions seem to be confirming Zen’s fears about the RFA treating him differently.

 

“Yoosung,” she starts, hoping to get him on another subject, “speaking of school, how have your studies been going?”

 

He turns, confusion in his violet eyes for a moment before he breaks into an awkward smile. “Oh, haha...it’s been going okay, I guess. I had a trouble paying attention recently because of everything that’s been going on, but I’m still focusing as much as I can.”

 

She smiles. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

“How have you been doing, _____?” His expression turns slightly sad and she swears she sees his eyes flicker for just a moment to her abdomen before he moves his gaze back to meet her eyes. “You haven’t been too upset about all those things they’ve been saying on the news, have you?”

 

He means well, she knows, but it still hurts a little bit.  _ This must be what Zen feels like when people look at his stump and ask how he’s coping. _

 

“No, I don’t watch the news much anymore.”

 

Yoosung sighs in relief. “Good.” He looks back to Zen, and _____ realizes he’s not forgot about his previous conversation. “So have you started therapy? When do you think--”

 

“Yoosung,” Jumin says sternly, hovering in the doorway. He must have just arrived. “Calm down. There’s no need to bombard him with questions.”

 

The blonde jumps slightly and flushes with embarrassment, looking a little sheepish. “Oh. Right, I’m sorry…”

 

Jumin glances at _____ first, giving her a small nod in greeting before looking to Zen. “Hello. I hope you were expecting all of us at once. If not, we could always return later.”

 

“Hey.” Zen answers curtly, looking just the slightest bit annoyed. There’s relief in his eyes too. Probably because Yoosung’s stopped asking questions. “It’s fine, I was expecting all of you.”

 

“Good.” He casts a quick glance behind him, then walks into the room. Jaehee follows in from behind him, eyes on the floor. She must be nervous too, _____ thinks.

 

Zen’s eyes widen. “Jaehee…” His voice is a mixture of relief and anxiety.

 

She finally looks up, staring at him for a moment before smiling. “It’s so good to see you, Zen. How have you been feeling?”

 

“Better. A lot better. How have you been?” He glancing slightly towards Jumin before looking back at her. “That jerk hasn’t been working you too hard, has he?”

 

A small, breathy laugh escapes her lips. “No. Not any harder than usual. Actually, Mr. Han gave me a few vacation days after-- after it happened.”

 

Zen’s eyebrows raise in shock. “Seriously? You’re joking, right?”

 

“She’s not joking. I did indeed give her a small vacation.” Jumin interjects matter-of-factly. “Even the most ill-experienced employers know it isn’t advisable to work your employees when they’re stressed or distraught. If you do, it ends with shoddy workmanship. Not to mention the stress it puts on the business relationship between boss and employee.”

 

Jaehee nods absentmindedly. “Yes, that’s right.”

 

Zen, however, is not impressed in the least. “Of course  _ that’s _ how you think about it. You just care about your company’s well-being, not Jaehee’s.”

 

“Think what you will. I did what was right in my eyes, and that’s the only thing that matters.” Jumin’s voice is monotone, with a hint of annoyance.

 

“Let’s not talk about work for now…” Jaehee attempts, glancing uncomfortably from Jumin to Zen.

 

“I agree.” Jumin answers all too quickly, betraying his impatience with the subject.

 

Zen ignores Jumin and moves his gaze back to Jaehee, smiling a little. “So, Jaehee, there’s this really great coffee machine near the cafeteria here. It’s insanely good, you should really get some before you go today. Honestly, I think you’ll love it.”

 

“Really? I’ll definitely have to get some of that, then. Is there a certain one you recommend?”

 

Yoosung shuffles awkwardly away from the conversation he’s obviously been butted out of and heads towards _____. She turns her attention to him, the other conversation fading into the background. He’s silent for a moment, staring blankly at the others.

 

“Hey...is Zen really doing okay?” He asks her quietly. “He doesn’t look like himself.”

 

She looks at her husband. He’s smiling, looking a lot brighter than usual, talking animatedly with Jaehee. Still, he’s not completely himself just yet, so she can see where Yoosung is coming from. He hadn’t seen him at his worst, so he can’t possibly know what he looks like when he’s better.

 

“He’s alright, Yoosung, don’t worry. Trust me, he’s doing a lot better than he was before.” She answers, voice low.

 

“Okay...I’ll take your word on that. What about you, though…? Those things I heard from the press...are they true?”

 

“Yes.” The word is heavy on her tongue.

 

His eyebrows furrow, and he looks like his heart might be breaking. “I’m so sorry, ____…”

 

She shakes her head. “It’s alright. I’ve already come to terms with it.”

 

“Still. I’m just...I hate seeing horrible things like that happen to you guys. You two deserve to be  _ happy _ . The rest of us aren’t.”

 

She frowns. “Yoosung…”

 

“I’m serious. Seeing you guys make it this far together and have a happy life and nice careers you love...it kept me strong. It made me want to work towards having something like that for myself someday. Now, it’s all messed up.” He takes a shaky breath, meeting her eyes. “I’m just so worried about you guys.”

 

He looks so torn and so genuinely concerned that she can’t help but move to hug him. “We’ll be fine, Yoosung. You don’t have to worry so much about us.”

 

Yoosung returns the hug, body shaking ever so slightly. He must have been so lonely, she thinks, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

 

“Thank you.” He says. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

 

They both pull away at the same time and Yoosung moves his hand to quickly swipe away stray tears that were making their way out of his eyes. “If you guys will be okay, then I’ll be okay too.”

 

She smiles. “Good. I promise we won’t shut any of you out anymore. If you need to talk or anything, just call or message us okay?”

 

He manages a smile. “Okay.”

 

It feels like a great weight has been lifted off her heart. For months, she felt bad about pushing the others away and ignoring them. It’s a great feeling to be back in the same room with some of them. It almost brings back memories of the first RFA party she hosted.

 

Zen meets her eyes from across the room and gives her a soft smile. She grins back, relieved to finally see him enjoying himself again. His smile turns slightly mischievous and he winks at her before turning his attention back to whatever Jaehee is saying. Warmth fills her chest.

 

_ Yes _ , she thinks.  _ We’re going to be fine. _


	12. Charity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm really sorry about the huge delay in updates. I had a bad bout of writer's block and I couldn't seem to get any motivation to write. I'm pretty sure it's gone now, but if I'm ever taking a long time to update, just know I'm probably not doing it on purpose because I really love writing this fic! :) Hope you enjoy this one!

_ I’m almost home free. _ Zen tells himself that when his physical therapy gets too hard or the hospital food’s too bland. It feels like he’s been in that hospital room for years, not months. The sheets always smell like generic detergent. His room is always the same dull shades of whites and light blues. When the sun sets outside the windows, it’s the only time the place looks anything other than colorless; the walls bleed a deep orange, setting them aflame. It’s then that Zen thinks,  _ I’m in hell. This is what hell feels like. _

 

He’s stir crazy. Every day it’s the same routine. Wake up. Eat breakfast (that is, if he doesn’t feel sick to his stomach). Massage his leg. Do the stretches his physical therapist taught him. Watch TV. Maybe a movie, if it’s on. If that gets old-- and it always does --he looks through one of the magazines on his bedside table for the umpteenth time. Eat lunch. Depending on the day of the week, he’ll go to his physical therapy session. If not, he’ll watch more TV, or nap. Eat dinner. Spend some time with his wife. If she’s feeling up to it, and he thanks God that at least he has this, they’ll be intimate. Otherwise, they’ll cuddle, talk about their days, share a few smiles, a few laughs. She’s the one bright point in his day. She’s the one reason he hasn’t completely lost it.

 

Of all things, he thought being able to walk again would make him feel better. That he’d finally be part of himself again. He wouldn’t have to rely on someone to help him to the restroom, or a wheelchair. Something never felt right about it, even if it was his own arms moving the wheels, propelling him forward. He wanted to  _ walk _ . Then he wouldn’t feel so useless, sitting still in that same bed for hours on end.

 

The day his first prosthetic was finished, the day he’d finally try it on and  _ finally _ walk again, he was ecstatic. He couldn’t sit still in the car on the way, fidgeting with his hands like a small child excited to go get ice cream. His prosthetist demonstrated how to properly put the sock on over his residual limb, and how to make sure all the air was out of it to prevent blisters. They showed him how he needed to lubricate it, to make the socket of the prosthesis easier to get on. Sliding the prosthetic on was simple enough, but when they asked him to stand to make sure his stump was all the way in the socket, he felt nervous.  _ This is it _ , he thought. In a few minutes, he’d be taking his first steps. _____ helped him stand, placing one hand on his arm, the other on his back.

 

Once it was completely on, they brought him a walker. Shakily, he placed his hands on it, taking a deep breath. He glanced at his wife and she gave him a reassuring smile before letting go of him. The first couple of steps were terrifying. His hands gripped the handles of the walker so tightly his knuckles began to turn white. He kept feeling like he was going to fall over, but he continued to walk. It was slow and shaky, sloppy even, but it didn’t matter. He was doing it. He was walking. It was liberating-- he finally felt like he was in control.

 

But it didn’t lessen his misery. Sure, it did a little bit, but what it really did was make him more anxious to return to acting, more hungry to feel what it was like to dance again, to sing on stage...it made him feel more restless, and more useless. He still couldn’t work, not yet, and ____ was working more than one job to try and make enough money to pay the growing hospital bills. It was his fault those bills were there anyway, he should be the one working his ass off to pay them. 

 

Every time he goes to physical therapy, he focuses intently on getting better. Every time he uses his prosthetic leg, he thinks of ways that he could possibly dance again. It’s constantly on his mind, working again. Not only because he wants to help, but also because he misses the acting and the stage so  _ damn _ much. He doesn’t feel like himself without it.

 

Today in particular, it seems like the weight of all his problems is pressing down on his shoulders more than usual. The day of his discharge from the hospital is drawing nearer. He should be happy, but he’s not. He’s angry, confused, distressed…

 

Three days ago, a nurse walked into his room, smiling. It wasn’t one of the pity smiles they normally gave him either, it was genuine.

 

“I have some good news!” She said, voice bright. “An anonymous donor paid off your hospital bill.”

 

Zen’s heart hammered to a halt, only to take off sprinting. “What…?”

 

“You won’t owe the hospital any expenses once we discharge you.” She explained. “You’re all set.”

 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was a godsend, and he should have been relieved, but the news only made him feel sick. Zen stared at the bridge of the woman’s glasses, lost in thought, trying to figure out who the hell would pay off their bills.

 

“Sir, are you alright?” She asked.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for letting me know.” He answered, the words half-hearted and monotone. His concentration was elsewhere.

 

“Alright.” She was quiet for a moment, and the silence became deafening before she finally spoke again. “Have a nice day, Mr. Ryu.”

 

“You too.”

 

It didn’t take him long to figure out. He just had to imagine someone loaded with cash, someone who would go out of his way to give money, even if it was too much. Someone who Zen was sick and tired of hearing about. Jumin.

 

_ What does he get out of this? _ He thought.  _ Is he trying to show off? Is he making a statement? That I’m not good enough to work for my own money so he has to step in? _

 

Every possible reason he could think of infuriated him. He hated being helped, hated taking charity. It made him feel so damn  _ useless _ . It made him feel like a burden, like the only thing he was any good for was lying around. All he did was hinder, never help. Meanwhile, Jumin was the one who saved them. He could see it now, _____ smiling, tears in her eyes, thanking Jumin because their financial problems were solved. It keeps him awake at night.

 

Three days later, he’s still brooding about it. He hasn’t told his wife yet, and neither has the hospital staff. He guesses the nurse assumed he’d tell her the news, but he’s not ready to yet. Not until he figures it all out. He’s thought about calling Jumin, but he’d have to use her phone, or the hospital’s, and that would be too much of a hassle. What, then? What’s left for him to do?

 

He bunches up the sheets in his hands, squeezing them tightly to try and get some of his frustration out. It was bad enough he had to call him before to ask for that favor. It’s even worse now that he’s indebted to his charity.

 

There’s a knock on the door to his room. Zen’s head snaps towards the noise and his fingers slowly let go of the sheets, hands moving to try and smooth the wrinkles out of them.

 

“Come in,” he says, not expecting the root of all his problems to open the door and come waltzing in, but it does.

 

“I hope I’m not coming at a bad time.” Jumin says, closing the door behind him.

 

Zen’s quiet for a moment, staring. At first, he’s too shocked to be angry. “What?”

 

“I had some free time, so I thought I’d come to visit. I haven’t seen you since I visited with Yoosung and Assistant Kang.” He doesn’t bother to sit down, he just makes his way over to the bedside and stands there, looming over him. It pisses Zen off.

 

“What do you want, anyway?” He says, venom in his tone.

 

Jumin raises an eyebrow. “I just told you. I wanted to visit. How are you doing?”

 

“I’d be doing a hell of a lot better if you’d just leave.”

 

“Ah...I see you’re getting back to being your old self again.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“What’s gotten into you? You’re normally ill-tempered when I’m around, but this is a little much, even for you.” Jumin sounds a little annoyed himself.

 

_ Good. Maybe he’ll get pissed and leave. _

 

“I know what you did, Jumin. Don’t act like I don’t.” Zen says, glaring.

 

“What are you talking about?” His voice is calm and collected, but there’s a small tone of surprise that hints at his guilt.

 

“You paid off our bills. It was anonymous, but I know it was you.”

 

He sighs, a hand moving to tug on the sleeve of his suit slightly, a nervous tick. “I thought you would figure it out...I was hoping to keep it a secret a little longer. I didn’t want to take credit for it, I only wanted to help out.”

 

Red-hot anger sparks in Zen’s gut. “Why the hell would you want to help?! I’m not even nice to you.”

 

“Because you’re my friend.”

 

The response takes Zen completely off guard. Jumin sounds so sincere. He  _ is _ sincere; his expression says it all. There’s a confusing mix of emotions churning up inside of him. All he knows is that Jumin’s kindness is pissing him off. So, he does the only thing his confused and aggravated mind can come up with. His hand curls into a fist and he half-heartedly punches Jumin in the gut. He grunts slightly, but doesn’t move. Zen keeps his fist there, arm shaking slightly.

 

“You jerk...you think you can fix everything with money?” He mutters, hazarding a glance up at Jumin.

 

He’s stone-faced. “No, but I can help. And I did.”

 

“You didn’t have to--”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

Zen slowly pulls his arm back, letting it rest on his lap. He’s not sure when the tears start to come but he turns his head away when he notices them, so Jumin won’t see that he’s crying. He has a feeling he knows anyway, though.

 

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.” Jumin’s voice is softer than normal, but still stern. “You have _____. And the RFA.”

 

The words barely make it out of his strained throat. “I know.”

 

“Then act like it.” Jumin sighs, quiet for a moment before turning to head toward the door, taking Zen’s current condition as his cue to leave. He’s almost to the door when Zen finally gets up the courage to speak again.

 

“Hey Jumin?”

 

Jumin stops in his tracks, a little surprised. “Yes?”

 

Zen’s tongue feels like lead and his heart’s aching. “...thank you.”

 

It’s the first time he’s ever said that to him. He didn’t thank him when he helped out with Cho-Rim, or when he forced him get up the courage to see his friends again. This whole time, Jumin had his best interests in mind, and Zen had been a brat about it.

 

“You’re welcome.” He sounds a little relieved. “I hope now you’ll be able to focus on getting back to your career again.”

 

“Yeah...I will.”

 

There’s silence. The good kind. Peaceful and meaningful. Zen feels lighter than he did before. The burden of his anger and confusion has lifted. Jumin doesn’t say another word, he only opens the door and leaves, closing it behind him. Zen listens as his footsteps become quieter, then disappear altogether.

 

_ That trust-fund kid...he’s not that bad of a guy. _

 

Suddenly, he laughing. He can finally feel happy about not being in debt. He can finally tell his wife that it’s okay, she doesn’t have to worry anymore, they’ll be okay. He can finally focus on becoming himself again. It’s incredibly liberating.

 

Soon, he’ll be out of the hospital. He’ll finally be able to go  _ home _ . That in itself is enough to make tears of joy slip down his cheeks. It’s finally time.

 

_ I’m almost free. _


	13. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Finally, I've beaten the writer's block I've had with this fic and am updating after more than a year (yikes!). First, I apologize it took so long. Most of that was actual writer's block mixed with school getting in the way, but I'll also admit I was procrastinating big time when I really wanted to keep going. So, from now on, I'm going to try and at least post one chapter a month (at an undetermined time, it'll probably always be random). 
> 
> Second, this chapter is longer than most, so I hope it makes up for the long update time, and I hope you all enjoy it!! Thank you so much for being patient with me and for enjoying this fic as much as you do. It really keeps me going. :)

It’s been a week since Zen was discharged from the hospital, but she still feels like she’s there. She lived there for months, never leaving his side, never ceasing her worrying. Those first couple of hours when Zen was in surgery and she didn’t know if he’d live or die will always remain seared in her mind. Those memories are part of her now, they’ll never leave. Every time she looks at him, she remembers what it felt like to almost lose him.

 

Sometimes, she dreams about the accident. It always plays out the same as before: the argument, her slapping him, Zen driving off on his motorcycle in a fit of hurt and rage. What happens next, though, is different.

 

_ She paces some, panicking, before she gets in the car and drives. It feels like she drives forever-- it’s a never-ending stretch of grim asphalt. Then she sees it. Flashing red and blue lights in the distance. The wail of sirens reaches her through the cracked windows. She’s speeding now, heart pounding out of her chest. It can’t be him, it can’t, she thinks, but there’s a part of her chanting it is, it is him. _

 

_ She brings the car to a screeching halt when she reaches the police barrier, not even bothering to turn the engine off before barreling out of the door, tripping over her own feet. The police are there, ready to stop her, but before she reaches them, she spots it. Zen’s motorcycle. The custom paint job is unmistakable. _

 

_ “That’s my husband!” She screams, voice cracking with desperation. “Oh God, please, that’s my husband, let me through!” _

 

_ The policemen move aside and she makes a break for the wreckage, whipping past a totaled car, breathing in the stench of burnt metal and iron. As she gets closer, she can see the damage on his motorcycle. It’s bent at a horrible angle, almost ripped in half. The twisted bits of metal are tinged with red and she has to hold down her vomit when the realization hits her. Blood. His blood. She looks around, noticing the skid marks from tires before she spots the streak of red leading to a crumpled car. A black tarp is covering something next to the car. _

 

_ Her feet start to move on their own. She stumbles, slowly, towards the tarp, barely breathing. She knows what’s under there, who’s under there, but she doesn’t want to believe it. Not until she sees it for herself. Her steps become quicker, more sloppy. She falls to her knees. Broken glass bites at her skin, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. Her hands grasp the edge of the tarp and she pulls it down, a half-sob bubbling up from her throat. _

 

_ It’s him. His helmet is scraped all to hell, a massive dent in the side of it. The glass of the visor is broken, and she can almost see his face through the shards. She doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s gone. The mangled leather of his jacket and the angle of his body tells her enough, but she still needs to look. She wants to see his face. Somehow, she holds her tears back just long enough to slowly, carefully, remove his helmet, setting it to the side before she finally looks at him. _

 

_ His eyes are half closed, staring up at a sky he’ll never see. Pupils dilated, irises a dull red. A stream of dried blood trails from the corner of his mouth down the side of his face, some of it congealing in the tangled mess of silver hair that’s hanging half-out of his normally neat ponytail. She chokes out a sob, shaking fingers moving to brush his bangs to the side. One of them grazes the skin of his forehead and she gags. His skin is ice cold. _

 

_ “Hyun…” She whispers, barely able to speak through the tightness of her throat. “Hyun, God, please...wake up…” _

 

_ Of course, there's no answer. No movement except a light stirring of his hair from the breeze. He's dead, she knows that. She can feel it in the growing pit of her chest. The loneliness and guilt are already eating at her insides. She smooths back his hair, gaze fixed on his unblinking eyes. _

 

_ Oh, how those used to light up when he laughed; they used to fill with absolute love when he looked at her. Not anymore. Everything he was, everything she loved...gone. _

 

_ And whose fault is that? _

 

She wakes up sobbing, pillow damp with tears. Her hands are shaking, and that godawful void is still wreaking havoc in her chest. For a horrible moment, she thinks it's real. She thinks he's really gone.

 

“Babe?” Zen's voice is tinged with worry. She can feel the mattress shift as he moves closer to her, propping himself up on his elbow to look at her. “Hey, what's going on? Why are you crying?”

 

Her eyes find his and she savors the concern reflected there, savors the life brimming in them.  _ He's alive _ , she tells herself.  _ He's okay. It was just a nightmare. _ The relief of it only makes her cry more.

 

He frowns and eases himself back down on the bed, wrapping her in his strong embrace. She melts into him, letting the pain come in waves. Her tears are soaking the thin fabric of his shirt, but she doesn’t care. All that matters is that she can hear his heartbeat. She can feel his chest expanding against her, and his hand stroking her back. It helps distance her from the memory of her dream, helps bring her back to reality.

 

“Did you have that nightmare again…?” Zen asks quietly. He almost sounds scared himself.

 

This is only the third time he's witnessed her have the nightmare. He probably thinks those are the only times she's had it. If he does, he's wrong. She nods into his chest and he heaves out a long sigh.

 

“I'm alive, _____. It's okay. I'm alive and I promise I'll never put you through that again.” His hand moves to stroke her hair soothingly.

 

She clings tighter to him and he returns the gesture, squeezing her gently but firmly against his chest. They lay like that for a good while, until her breathing evens out and the events of the dream fade into her subconscious. Zen's the first one to speak up after the long silence.

 

“How many times have you had that dream? Has it just been these past couple of times?” He sounds hesitant, like part of him doesn't want to know the answer. She decides to be honest.

 

“No...I had it before then, too. At the hospital.”

 

He's mortified. “How didn't I know…?”

 

“It was mostly when I was sleeping on the couch in your room...it never happened when I shared the bed with you.”

 

“Why not?”

 

She pauses, thinking. “I think...I think being close to you helped chase the nightmares away.”

 

He pulls away from her slightly to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. “If that's the case then why are you having them again now when I'm right here?”

 

Her heart thumps painfully. She has an idea of why but she's not sure if she should say it. “I...I don't know. I guess it's just that...things have been going so well recently I'm just...scared it's too good to be true.”

 

His eyes close for a long moment. When he opens them again, his gaze is sad. “I feel the same way.”

 

She bites her lip, averts her eyes. Now she feels guilty. Talking about her nightmare and expressing her fears probably made him feel at fault again. He notices her expression.

 

“Hey...babe, it’s okay. We’ll get through this.” He says, meeting her eyes, gaze gentle. “Even if something else happens, we’ll still have each other.”

 

There's a ghost of a smile on her lips. His fingers trail down her cheek and he leans in to plant a kiss on her forehead. That makes her smile grow.

 

“Yeah. We'll always have each other.” She agrees.

 

Zen smiles, then gives her a quick peck on the lips. The kind of kiss that always seems to make her giggle. They look at each other fondly for a few moments more, the last remnants of her nightmare swallowed up by the way he’s looking at her. 

 

He yawns and runs a hand through his tangled hair, glancing towards the drawn curtains. His eyes squint at the small beams of sunlight slipping their way through the gaps in the fabric, heralding the arrival of the morning. It seems like it’s going to be a lazy day already, as most of their days have been since Zen came home from the hospital. A small, wistful sigh leaves him.

 

“Y’know… I could go for a warm bath right about now.” He says, almost talking to himself.

 

“Is that a hint or something?” She asks, slightly amused.

 

“Huh? Oh.” He lets out a puff of laughter. “I guess it kind of was.”

 

“I’ll get the water started, then.” She says, pulling back the covers to slide to the edge of the bed.

 

“Okay. I’ll be in soon.” He sounds grateful, excited even.

 

She hums in acknowledgement heads for the bathroom door, bare feet padding across the plush carpet.

 

“Babe, wait.”

 

“Yeah?” She asks, stopping in the threshold of the doorframe.

 

“Are you... gonna join me in there?” He asks innocently, and it almost seems like they’re younger again, back when they were just newly dating. Bashful Zen-- afraid that if he so much as kissed her too passionately, he’d scare her off or hurt her. 

 

“Yes.” Her smile is small, loving. She’s used to drawing baths for him, but the past few times, she wasn’t able to stay with him afterwards. It’s about time she did.

 

She sets out the bath mat as the tub fills, then gets the towels ready. Her heart flutters in her chest at the thought of bathing with her husband and it catches her off guard. Ever since the accident it seems like they’re learning how to do everything again. Not just the day-to-day routines, but also their relationship. The months spent in the hospital, the worrying-- it took a toll on them, made a rift. At first, it was excruciating, to feel so far away from the man she had promised her life to, but now that they’re healing, it’s almost like meeting again for the first time.

 

All the butterflies, the soft, hesitant touches, whispers among the pillows. Watching Zen go through so much and still make it out the other side okay when she barely made it herself made her fall in love with him all over again.

 

“Babe, you okay? The tub’s going to overflow if you keep standing there.” Zen’s voice brings her back.

 

“Oh, shit,” she realizes, moving towards the faucets, hands shooting out to quickly turn them off. 

 

He’s standing in the doorframe, crutches at his sides, wearing nothing and looking confused. She smiles at him sheepishly, a little embarrassed.

 

“Were you… daydreaming?” he asks, and she can tell he’s trying to hold back the amusement in his tone.

 

“Possibly.”

 

He grins, crutching a little further into the room until he’s almost in front of her.

 

“Am I flustering you?” he teases.

 

She shakes her head, laughing a little bit. “Be quiet, you. There’ll be plenty of time for that in the tub.”

 

He chuckles, but doesn’t protest. She makes sure the edges of the tub are dry before she helps him ease down to sit, taking the crutches from him and setting them against the wall. She watches as he holds onto the edge with one hand, the other grabbing the bar on the wall. He brings his right leg over into the water first before his residual limb follows. Carefully, he slides into the tub, grip still firm on both the edge and the bar, bringing himself to kneel on his right leg. He sits slowly, letting out a content sigh as he fully takes in the feeling of the water.

 

“Is the temperature good?” she asks. “I tried to make it as warm as I could without it being too hot.”

 

“Mm,” he hums, “it’s good, but… it’ll be much better once you’re in here with me.”

 

She rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance, but she can’t hide the laugh that bubbles up into her throat.

 

“Give me some room then.” she says, and he obliges, scooting himself forward in the water.

 

Once she’s undressed, she joins him. They take their time together. She washes his back, places small kisses on his neck. Her hands massage soap into his arms, reach around to his chest to hold him close. She pours water into his hair, runs her shampoo-covered fingers through the silvery strands. When she’s done, she switches spots with Zen, closes her eyes as he washes her, his soft hands trailing over her skin. It’s intimate, what they’re doing, and she loves how it makes her feel like she’s floating, like she’s witnessing a miracle, and she is, in a way. She came so close to losing him.

 

“I love you,” she mumbles when the thought hits her.

 

She feels him smile against her neck, his arms around her waist tightening.

 

“I love you too.”

 

The water’s cold by the time they’re done. She climbs out first, drying off and wrapping her hair in a towel. Making her way to the vanity, she rolls out the chair for Zen before grabbing a few more towels. She dries off the outer edge of the tub with one, placing another on the floor in front, and keeps the last for him.

 

He reaches up and grabs the bar on the wall, other hand bracing himself on the edge to slowly ease himself up to sit on it. His body turns to face his wife and she helps him keep steady as he dries off. She helps him into the chair before rolling him towards the mirror. Zen’s reflection smiles at her, reaching up a hand to touch hers.

 

“Thank you. I know I say it a lot, but you’ve been a really big help with all of this.” he says. “I’m still figuring it all out.”

 

She returns the smile, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his damp head.

 

“Whatever you need, I’m happy to help.”

 

Zen’s cheeks flush slightly and there’s that bashful smile she loves so much.

 

“Okay, that was really sweet, I think my heart just melted.”

 

“Don’t melt too much, I still have to comb your hair.” she retorts jokingly, grabbing the comb from the counter.

 

It’s not often she does this for him, but when she does, he really does melt. He’s almost like a cat, she thinks, ironically enough. Stroke his hair and he’s closing his eyes, leaning into the touch, enjoying the feeling of the comb and her fingers in his hair. He looks so peaceful, she can’t help but smile.

 

Zen’s usually quiet, but this time he speaks up halfway through, breaking the silence.

 

“So… I’ve been thinking about something. It’s… a little drastic, but hear me out.” he says.

 

She stops combing, giving him a concerned look. “Okay… what is it?”

 

He lets out a small, nervous laugh. “It’s nothing horrible, don’t worry. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about who I was before the accident, and also about who I am now. They’re different people. Not extremely different, but still different right?”

 

“Right…” She agrees hesitantly, wondering where this is going.

 

“I want to try to be better. I want to change for the better and… I want to start fresh. So I was thinking… I want to cut my hair.”

 

Her eyes go wide. “You’re serious?”

 

“Yeah, I’m serious. It’s time for a change. I mean… my hair was always my trademark, in pretty much everything I’ve acted in. I’m different now. I want to distance myself from who I used to be.”

 

She watches him in the mirror, sees the change in his expression. He’s being weighed down by those memories, she knows. He wants to escape it, start over. It makes sense. She reaches out to touch some of the hair she’s already combed, letting out a slow, accepting sigh.

 

“Okay,” she says softly. “I understand. How short do you want it to be?”

 

He reaches a hand up, stopping it just a little under his shoulder. “I was thinking about here. It’s still long enough to pull back if I need to.”

 

She looks at him for a moment, imagining it. Then, she smiles. “I think you’d look good with that. Let’s do it.”

 

Zen’s eyes light up. “Right now?”

 

“Yeah, I don’t see why not.” she replies. “You brought it up for a reason, right?”   
  


“Right.” he confirms, before looking a little nervous. “I’m going to close my eyes for this. Just so I don’t freak out. I mean, I want this, it’s just… seeing it while it happens might mess with me.”

 

“Makes sense. You’ve had it this long since I met you.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes, then closes his eyes, teeth worrying his lip. “Go ahead. No pressure.”

 

She lets out a breath of a laugh. “Thanks.”

 

Her hand finds the drawer under the sink, reaching for the scissors. She goes to get the trash can, then hesitates. Thinking of all that beautiful hair in the trash doesn’t sit right with her.

 

“I’m going to tie your hair back first so we can donate the rest of it after it’s cut.” she says, grabbing a hair tie from the counter.

 

“That’s… a really good idea, actually.” he says, nerves seeming to ebb slightly.

 

She ties his hair back a few inches below where he wants it cut and moves a hand to hold onto it, steadying herself. This is it. Her hand slowly moves the scissors towards his hair and there’s a moment of uncertainty before takes the plunge and starts cutting.

 

Zen’s bites his lip the moment he hears her start cutting, and she can tell part of him is internally screaming. As she keeps going, the tension in him seems to fade, until his expression is blank, eyes still closed.

 

When the last strand is cut and the ponytail comes loose into her hand, she stares at it for a moment, almost not believing she’s really done it. Her eyes trail back to Zen’s reflection in the mirror and she stops breathing for a second.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

“Wow,” she whispers.

 

“What?” he asks, nerves suddenly back, “do I look okay?”

 

His eyes open and he lets out a small gasp, hands immediately flying up to touch the ends of his hair, now hanging just below his shoulders.

 

“Fucking shit, it’s so short.” he says softly, and for a moment, she’s scared she’s cut it too much. “I love it.”

 

“You do?” she asks, heart pounding.

 

“Yeah! It’s weird because I’m not used to it yet, but… I really do like it. I feel better somehow. Lighter, I think.”

 

She smiles. “Well, you have less hair weight now.”

 

He laughs. 

 

“No, no, not just that. I  _ do _ feel that, but I also feel lighter here.” he brings a hand to his chest.

 

That makes her feel light too.

 

“Good.”

 

He smiles again, wider, more vibrant, and she really sees him for the first time. The new Zen. Still himself, still the man she married, but stronger, more determined. Ready to take on whatever comes his way. 

 

She’ll be there with him, at every hardship, she vows. Do whatever it takes to keep him smiling. Her Zen, her own little miracle. 


End file.
